


Aftermath: Building a Life for (Dummies) Clones

by rainoverthemountains



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Entrapta (She-Ra), Changing your whole world view is hard, Chronic Illness, F/M, Fluff, Hordak and Entrapta have basically adopted Kadroh, Horde Clones - Freeform, Horde-typical levels of ableism, Hurt/Comfort, Learning life outside the hivemind, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spacebat family bonds, We've all established that the clones were raised in an abusive cult; yes?, Wrong Hordak shall hereafter be called Kadroh, family bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainoverthemountains/pseuds/rainoverthemountains
Summary: Horde Prime is dead. Etheria is safe. The clones are free. Now what?In which Horde Prime knows nothing about clone repair, clones know nothing about being spacebats, Etheria knows nothing about integrating an army of former mind-controlled slaves into society, and Hordak knows nothing about being part of a real family. Whatever anyone does or doesn't know, this is the life they've got, so they'll make the best of it.
Relationships: Entrapta & Wrong Hordak, Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Hordak & Wrong Hordak
Comments: 181
Kudos: 442





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings, characters, and other tags might appear as the story progresses. The planning for this story is fairly vague, and my writing tends to go wherever it wants anyway, so who knows where we'll end up? This could end up as a long plotty story, a bunch of individual connected stories, or a mix of the two. All I can promise is that I accept no outcome in which they don't all end up happy.
> 
> *I don't know who came up with Kadroh (Hordak spelled backwards) for Wrong Hordak's name, but I like it, so I'm using it.

“BROTHER, LOOK!” Kadroh exclaims, bounding over to where Hordak has leaned against a tree to catch his breath. The clone, who clung to the name ‘Wrong Hordak’ for several days after being accidentally disconnected from the hivemind, before finally believing that he could name himself, has not lost one bit of his enthusiasm for learning every possible thing about his new life. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?” He shoves the thing in his hands in front of Hordak’s face. Volume control and personal space are both still works in progress.

Pushing the object back to a distance where he can see it without crossing his eyes, Hordak examines it. “Some kind of plant matter. Possibly a mushroom. _Not_ a piece of the Horde technology we are supposed to be searching for.” Not that he's had any luck in finding this supposed technology, either. Maybe Entrapta's search has gone better.

“I know that.” Kadroh takes his mushroom back. “I think it’s the same kind we had for dinner last night.”

“Well, they must come from somewhere,” Hordak acknowledges. He truly does want to support Kadroh’s efforts in developing his own identity, which includes pursuing whatever avenues of interest might catch his attention, but sometimes it’s hard to see what he finds so fascinating about certain things. Was Hordak ever like that when he was first disconnected from the hivemind? Unlikely, given the need to focus on survival.

“I know! I mean, I know that Etherian food grows in the ground, except when it comes from animals, but it’s just so amazing to actually see it! They feed everyone just from things like this that you can just find growing out of the ground, with no technology at all!”

“They actually have quite an extensive agricultural system in place. Without it, feeding the entire population would be impossible.”

“Isn’t that just amazing, though? That they can do all that without anyone telling them all what they have to do? And even if someone did, they’d probably just all do it differently anyway.”

“They certainly would.” Hordak shakes his head ruefully, remembering the relative chaos of his own horde. Following instructions to the letter was something they never did. It would have been more irritating, except that they generally performed better and demonstrated more loyalty when given more freedom. Not that there were no mistakes; there were plenty, but still fewer than when he tried to maintain strict control. Perhaps he should have learned something from that earlier than he did.

“Maybe that’s what I’ll learn about next! Do you think there might be some farmers who would teach me how to farm?”

“I suppose, but it seems like quite the investment of time. Perhaps one of the princesses would have a better suggestion. That one who controls plants might be a place to start.”

“Oh, of course! Thank you, brother! I don’t know what I’d do without your advice!” Hordak abruptly finds himself engulfed in a hug. Engulfed really is the best descriptor.

“Kadroh.”

Kadroh continues his happy babbling about how wonderful Hordak is for helping him learn how to live on Etheria without the hivemind. It might all be very flattering, except for one problem.

“Kadroh.”

“–the princesses and Bow are wonderful, and most people have been very friendly and welcoming, but sometimes I don’t think they quite understand what I’m talking about, and they don’t know anything about the hivemind, and you just know so much about everything, so–”

“Brother!” Hordak snarls. This gets Kadroh’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” His voice takes on a hint of tears. “Am I being annoying? I’m sorry, brother. I’m trying to do better. Entrapta says I can–”

“I. Can’t. Breathe!” Hordak bites out, gasping for air.

“OH!” The arms around him immediately loosen, letting him stumble back against the tree. He almost falls as the newly reoxygenated blood fails to reach his head quickly enough, but strong hands catch him, steadying him against the tree.

“I’MSOSORRYBROTHER! I DIDN’T REALIZE! ARE YOU ALRIGHT? MAYBE YOU SHOULD SIT DOWN!”

“I’m fine,” Hordak growls, pushing away Kadroh’s supporting hands as soon as he thinks he can remain upright without them. He _is_ fine. He’s been fine since returning to the Horde, able to perform basic tasks unaided and keep up with his brothers without his armor. ~~Big Brother blessed him with~~ – _Horde Prime_ must have done something to make him more useful without relying on his own armor. It wasn’t a reward, or mercy, because Prime was _not_ merciful and certainly wouldn’t reward such a failure. Besides, it wasn’t even entirely effective, leaving Hordak noticeably weaker and with less endurance than his brothers. However, it was enough of an improvement that he and Entrapta both decided they could afford to take the time to upgrade his new armor instead of just remaking the previous version. Those upgrades are still just plans at this point, waiting until they have a fully functional lab, likely in Dryl if the plans for Hordak’s community service to Etheria go well. But none of that matters right now, because he doesn’t need the armor, because he’s _fine,_ lightheadedness be damned.

“Brother?” Kadroh whimpers, shrinking away with his ears back.

“Go–!” Tears bead in Kadroh’s eyes. Hordak closes his own, and sighs. “It’s alright. You meant no harm.” Kadroh whimpers again, a tiny chitter at the end. “And you _did_ no harm. I am simply winded from the hike.” Kadroh glances skeptically back at the small ship they took to get here, which is close enough to be easily seen through the trees. Hordak’s ears twitch. “Yes, I realize I haven’t gone far from the ship. Perhaps I’ve been working too much lately.” He does tend to do that, but he’s also done so in far worse shape than his current condition. He should be fine.

“I’m still sorry,” Kadroh insists, holding his hands up like he might like to do something helpful with them, but can’t imagine what.

Kadroh apologizes so easily, in the Etherian way that does not involve groveling for one’s life with the hope of not being deemed in need of reconditioning or purification. Just another way that he’s taken to _being_ Etherian under the princesses’ guidance, far better than Hordak ever did. Regardless, he still seems quite distressed, ears still drooping and watching Hordak with unconcealed guilt and concern. Unnecessary.

“Forgiven,” Hordak grumbles, pushing himself off of his tree. “Do you know which way Entrapta has gone?”

“YES!” Kadroh proclaims, radiating delight at the chance to be of help. And possibly at returning to Entrapta. He rightfully adores her, though fortunately not in quite the same way as Hordak does. More in the same sense as how he has latched on to Hordak – some kind of mentor role, perhaps? Quite affectionate, but then, Kadroh is quite affectionate with everyone.

Kadroh gestures back the way he came with a dramatic wave of his arms, then bounds ahead, stopping only to pick up his mushroom from where it has fallen. “Do you think Entrapta will know what kind of plant this is?” he calls back to Hordak, who follows at a more sedate pace.

“I suppose she might, although I don’t believe botany is one of her specialties.”

“I’ll ask.” Kadroh drops back to match Hordak’s pace. He's not moving slowly; he just isn’t inclined to leap over small bushes as Kadroh was doing. Did he ever have that much energy? Presumably, but he can’t recall.

They find Entrapta in a small clearing, running a detector across some bushes.

“Hi, guys!” She chirps. “Find anything interesting?”

“Kadroh found a mushroom.” Hordak’s lips quirk upwards as he leans against another tree, settling himself between two branches. The quirked lips spread into a full-on smile as he watches the two of them examine the mushroom together. They conclude that there’s nothing unusual about the mushroom, though Kadroh maintains that it’s still fascinating that the same plant that was on their dinner table can just be pulled out of the ground. This reminds Entrapta that it’s lunch time, prompting her to pull out a sack containing a variety of portable, tiny food. Kadroh proclaims his delight at several items that he hasn’t tasted before, and Hordak manages to consume enough that no one expresses any concern. It helps that Entrapta brought quite a bit of fruit. All-in-all, it’s rather pleasant, as meals go.

After ascertaining that none of them have found any sort of technology in this forest, Horde-like or otherwise, they all agree that it was likely another case of paranoid villagers seeing shadows in the woods and jumping to unfounded conclusions without sufficient data. With only a few weeks having passed since the invasion of the Horde, this isn’t an unusual occurrence. Most people have taken well to the influx of clones onto their planet, taking their cues from the princesses regarding how to treat them, but some people are still on edge. Understandable, but tedious, because every Horde-related claim needs to be investigated.

"Maybe we should head back to the ship? To go home?" Entrapta suggests with little enthusiasm.

"Is there anything we need to do there?" Kadroh asks.

Entrapta shrugs. "Probably."

Hordak considers what he knows of the day's plans. They have a reasonable period of time blocked out for their current search, but there really is nothing more to be found here. The dutiful and responsible thing to do would be to return to get an early start on something else. Somehow, he just doesn't feel like being dutiful or responsible today. "Nothing that can't wait."

No one has any objections, so they settle in for a pleasant afternoon. Entrapta pulls something from her pack to tinker with, while Kadroh indulges his new fascination with mushrooms. After warning him away from taste-testing any that he doesn't recognize, Hordak settles himself more comfortably against his new favorite tree. Ordinarily he might want to see what Entrapta is doing, but right now it just seems like too much effort.

Mainly, he's grateful for the chance to rest in such a peaceful location. They've barely had a moment’s peace since arriving back on Etheria. While he appreciates the chance to repair some of the harm he has done in his misguided service to Horde Prime, he really could use some rest. Some peaceful, uninterrupted rest. Preferably with Entrapta. Perhaps in the lab Entrapta claims they’ll have in Dryl. Yes, just some nice, relaxing work with no one but his lab partner. Imp and Kadroh are welcome, of course. Emily will likely be there somewhere. Everyone else can just leave them alone for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

After some time watching the leaves rustle in the breeze, Hordak feels Entrapta’s gaze on him. The device that she was working on sits idly in her hands as she watches him contemplatively, with an occasional glance at Kadroh.

Hordak tilts his head in curiosity. “What is it?”

Shaking her head, Entrapta smiles at him. “Nothing.” After a pause, she continues. “Actually, I was just thinking about – I mean, do you ever wonder where you came from?”

Hordak frowns. “… no?” What an odd question.

“We come from the Horde, of course. Don’t we?” Kadroh asks, abandoning his investigation of a brightly colored fungus to sit next to Entrapta.

Perhaps Hordak should join them? With more effort than he’d like, he pushes off from the branches he’s been leaning against, but finds himself not quite steady enough to give up their support. He leans back against the branches. He must still be recovering from his earlier overexertion. He’s fine. It's a comfortable spot. He didn’t really want to leave it anyway.

“Well, of course you do,” Entrapta answers, “but I mean, what about before the Horde?”

The clones share a look of confusion.

“… We were… born in the horde?” Hordak offers. “Insomuch as we were ‘born’ at all. You do know that, don’t you? I’m certain I’ve explained that.” He tilts his head, ears twitching. “Haven’t I?”

“Right!” Kadroh nods enthusiastically. “I’ve only ever lived on Horde Prime’s ship. I’m sure of it!” He props his head on one hand, thinking. “Unless we were actually grown somewhere else and moved there before anyone can remember? I don’t remember living anywhere else.”

Hordak shakes his head. “No, clones are certainly grown on the ships. I can’t say I remember the details of my own decanting, but I assume it was the same as it is with every other clone.”

“Right!” Kadroh nods again. “We’re all grown the same way. It’s part of being clones.”

“Not that I’d ever want to discourage your curiosity, but what is it that you’re trying to discover with this line of inquiry?” She doesn’t usually ask about things she already knows. Maybe it’s meant to lead into whatever she actually wants to ask about? “I could tell you everything I know about how clones were grown on the ship, to add to your earlier notes on my attempts to grow myself a new body. Would that help?”

Entrapta shakes her head, hair swirling gently behind her. “No, I mean, yes, please do that, that would be fascinating! But that wasn’t actually what I was talking about. What I meant was, where do _all_ the clones come from?”

“Big Br- Horde Prime?” Hordak suggests, growling at himself at the slip. He has exactly one brother who fits into an actual ‘brotherly’ relationship, Kadroh, and quite a few – well, Entrapta has suggested thinking of them as more like cousins, those other groups of clones that have begun forming familial bonds in their adjustment to the loss of the hivemind. Horde Prime deserves neither classification.

“Yeah, but –” Entrapta’s hair twirls around her wrist. “But I mean, where did _he_ come from?”

Hordak and Kadroh blink at each other, equally lost at the absurdity of that question.

“Where did… Horde Prime come from?” Hordak asks. Big brother – argh, _Horde Prime,_ why does he keep doing that? It’s worse than when he actually considered them brothers! _Horde Prime_ didn’t come from anywhere. He’s always been – well, he’s always been.

“Did he come from somewhere?” Kadroh asks, earnestly trying to understand what Entrapta is saying, as Hordak is. It’s Entrapta; she can’t be speaking nonsense, but she certainly isn’t making any sense.

“Well he must have, right? I mean, I know he’s really old, but was he, like, a baby at some point, with parents? Or is he a clone, too? But in that case, who is he a clone of, and was that person a clone of someone else, or did that person start out as a baby with parents and family and a whole species? Or maybe they didn’t have parents at all, maybe they were… built! Like a robot! Ooh, maybe they _were_ robots! That would be amazing! A whole species of robots! But then who built them? Or maybe – “ Her hair twirls around, while both clones listen in utter perplexity. “I don’t know. Those are all the ways I can think of right now for someone to be born, or not necessarily born, but you know what I mean. But the point is, he had to come from somewhere, right? I mean, is he the only one of his kind in the whole universe? Aside from all the clones.”

Her eyes widen, then her hair quickly pats them both on the head. “Not that I’m saying you guys don’t count, because you totally do count and you’re all real, individual people and you matter a lot! It’s just that since Prime made you, you might not be able to give me much data on Baby Prime since you weren’t around then, so you probably never met his parents or inventors or whatever he had.”

“You want to know about… ‘Baby Prime’?” Hordak catches the hair that’s still patting his head, bringing it down where he can see it, as if it might reveal the mysteries of Entrapta’s brilliant but sometimes perplexing mind. It doesn’t.

“Prime wasn’t ever a baby,” Kadroh states firmly, before losing some of his certainty. “Was he?”

“Certainly not,” Hordak answers. “He couldn’t have been a baby, and he didn’t ‘come from’ anywhere. He’s always been…” Always been what, exactly? Hordak doesn’t know, can’t _describe_ it, the enormity that is Big Br – _Prime_ , but all this talk about what came before Prime is utter nonsense. Isn’t it? Prime didn’t grow up on some backwater planet, was never just some powerless infant reliant on caretakers. Prime is eternal. Anything else is inconceivable. Utter nonsense. But Entrapta doesn’t ever speak nonsense.

Now Entrapta looks confused, too. She’s welcome to join the rest of them. “But… I mean… he can’t have been like that forever. With the clone army and taking over all the planets and things? I mean, he _made_ his clone army, so obviously there was a time before he had a clone army, because he hadn’t made it yet, so what was he doing back then?”

Horde Prime without his clones. What a strange thought. But it makes sense. Of course it does. Entrapta always makes sense, when given the chance to fully express her thoughts. But he still doesn’t quite get what she’s getting at.

“Maybe he was figuring out how to make a clone army?” Kadroh suggests. “And conquering planets on his own?”

Hordak nods approvingly at this suggestion. Those seem like very Prime-like activities, even without any clones. Of course he didn't depend entirely on his clones to do such things. To suggest that Big Brother might actually _need_ them is such arrogance. Should Prime discover any hint of it even being considered – no, he won’t find out, because he’s dead. Hordak felt him die. He’s dead. Still, his behavior before his clones was unlikely to be any different than his behavior once he had them, so Kadroh is likely correct.

However, Entrapta’s question appears to remain unanswered. “Okay, sure, but what about before that?”

“Before what?” Kadroh asks, as eager to resolve this puzzle as Hordak, and just as poorly equipped to do so. What are they missing?

“Before the… researching clones, and planet conquering stuff.”

“I would think those activities could occupy him for quite some time,” Hordak says.

“They’re some of his favorite things to do.” Kadroh nods, then scowls. “Other than wiping people’s minds and crushing their individuality! But if he didn’t have anyone around to do that to, that’s probably what he'd do.”

Entrapta nods, hair patting them both on the back before withdrawing. “Right, I get it, Prime was a bad guy who liked to do bad things, and he’d happily do them forever, and he’s really, really old so he’s probably been doing them for a long time. But, I mean, was he already doing that when the universe started, or something? I mean, I don’t know, maybe he was. I don’t know how the universe started. Ohhh, wow, hey!" Her eyes widen. "Do you know how the universe started?" She bounces up on the tips of her hair. "Tell me all about it! Wait, no, tell me later. We're talking about whether Prime was already doing all that evil Prime stuff back then. Was he?”

“… no…” Hordak murmurs, contemplatively. “There was no life, or technology for cloning, or really any materials with which to build technology for cloning, or planets to conquer, at the beginning of the universe. So I suppose he wasn’t doing any of that then.” How incredibly strange, to think of a universe before Prime. Big Brother is a fact. He is the first fact. He is eternal. He is everything. Every clone knows that. None would dare even contemplate a universe without him, not even now that he's – but wait. Obviously, they _can_ contemplate a universe without him, because Big Brother is –

“Dead,” Kadroh murmurs in awe, in that annoyingly familiar way that their thoughts tend to follow the same path at times. Likely just a product of similar origins, genetics, and conditioning, but still eerily reminiscent of the hivemind. Hordak crushes the feeling of familiarity without mercy. But still, the point remains, because Prime is, in fact, dead. Which Hordak knows. Of course he knows, he felt it happen, but on some level it just can't quite sink in. It’s quite literally inconceivable. The implications are still hard to comprehend.

“What’s dead?” Entrapta asks.

“Big Bro – Prime!” Kadroh answers, brushing right over his own slip. “He’s dead!” No one blames him for taking a moment to revel in the reminder. However, Entrapta really could use a better explanation, so Hordak tries to provide one.

“What he means, I presume, is that we may have just encountered another flawed assumption based on our conditioning.”

Entrapta twirls in a little circle on her hair tips, hands curled happily up against her chest. “Ooh! Yes! What assumption? I love it when you guys get rid of Prime’s stupid assumptions!”

“We were confused because we thought Prime was always Prime!” Kadroh attempts to clarify. Attempts. He could still use some practice communicating with people who can’t share his thoughts, especially when he’s excited. Which is most of the time.

“What he means is–” Actually, can Hordak explain it any better? How can he explain the utter impossibility of imagining Prime as something so… finite, as to have a beginning? As to be a being that ‘comes from’ somewhere?

“Our stupid assumption was that Prime has been his same jerky self forever, because we thought he lived forever, but he’s dead so obviously that’s not true, so maybe it’s not true that he’s been around forever in the past, either!” Or maybe Kadroh can explain better than Hordak can. It’s missing some of the depth, but maybe some of that just can’t be explained.

Entrapta bounces on her hair tips again. “Oh, that makes sense! Of course he wouldn’t want you guys thinking about him as a little tiny baby, or anything like that. It kind of ruins the image.”

It’s still a somewhat incomprehensible thought, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Prime is dead. He knows this. Everyone knows this. Prime is not eternal. Prime no longer exists. Nor should he. It’s just more conditioning that needs to be broken. With that established, Entrapta’s words make quite a bit more sense. “So, what you're saying is that you want to know more about Prime’s origin.”

“Well, kind of.” Entrapta lowers herself to her feet. “I mean, it’s not actually about him, more about you guys, because you’re the ones who are worth the effort of figuring it out.” Damn blush, showing up on his face at the least appropriate times. How does she just _say_ things like that? “And I don’t think I explained it very well, either, because obviously I just managed to confuse you both.”

Well that just won’t do at all. “You explained your question perfectly well; the failure to understand was entirely on our part.”

“Right! If anything, it’s Prime’s fault,” Kadroh says, then looks thrilled to have said it. “Yes, that’s it exactly! It’s all Prime’s fault. He’s the one who –” he momentarily shrinks into himself, horror creeping onto his face, before pushing it away and boldly proclaiming, “who couldn’t even get his own clones to listen to him without making us all believe a bunch of stupid lies! And going around erasing people anytime they thought about something he didn’t like! So it’s all his fault.”

There is something thrillingly ~~terrifyingly~~ delicious about blaming a failure, even such a small one, on Prime. Kadroh generally takes to it with glee whenever the opportunity arises, fully encouraged by Entrapta and by his other princess friends. Hordak… well, it’s certainly gratifying, especially with Entrapta reminding him that everything Prime sees as a failure in him is actually Prime’s own fault, if it’s a failure at all, so if he’s inconvenienced Prime through his imperfect existence then Prime has only himself to blame. He certainly holds no love for his ‘Big Brother’, who tried to take everything from him and very nearly succeeded, who has _been_ taking everything from him, from all of them, for all of their existence. No, there are certainly no fond feelings left for Prime. Now if only there was something to be done about the sickening dread that rises each time he indulges in such traitorous thoughts. _~~Big Brother will **see**!~~_

“Hordak?” Entrapta’s hair brushes his face, while the rest walks her closer to run a finger along his lowered ears. They raise slightly at the contact.

“I’m fine,” he assures her, taking her hands before they can begin rubbing his ears. Now is not the time or place. “So, you wanted to know where Big Broth – _Prime_ came from? Or rather, where _we_ came from? Our species, I presume?” Which seems patently obvious now that he thinks about it for half a second without the haze of the eternal, all powerful, _all knowing_ – he shivers – very much _dead_ Prime clouding his mind.

“Yeah, but it’s okay if you don’t know. I mean, obviously he really didn’t want you to know, so how could you know about it? So I’m really sorry I kept bugging you about it. I should have realized it was bothering you and stopped asking when you didn’t understand my question, but instead I just kept pushing and pushing because I’ve just got to find the answers, y'know, which is normally great because you get lots of data that way, but it’s not great when you upset your friends and don’t find anything out anyway. Not that that’s the most important part, because _you’re_ the most important part and I’m sorry I bothered you.” She retreats into her hair cocoon, except for her hands, which she doesn’t pull away from his grasp.

“Nonsense,” he insists, gripping her hands tighter now that it’s clear she doesn’t want to pull them away. Light touches can be unpleasant, she told him once, except when they come from her own hair. “Nothing you said was remotely upsetting. There was nothing for you to realize, because I was not upset.”

Peeking out of a gap in her hair, she says, “but now you are.”

“My fault!” Kadroh insists. “And Prime’s fault,” he glances warily at Hordak, “but maybe we don’t need to talk about that right now.

“No.” Hordak shakes his head, ears relaxing. “It is _entirely_ Prime’s fault.” And Prime can’t do anything about it, because he’s dead. Which is also his own fault. Hordak’s mind is his own. He can do whatever he likes with it, including blaming Prime for whatever he likes. Or imagining him as a baby. He blinks away the image of baby Adora with Prime’s face. Maybe he doesn’t actually want to imagine Prime as a baby. “Regardless, it’s a valid question.”

“What is?” Entrapta asks, letting her hair flow back into its typical configuration.

“Where we come from. What our species was, before we were nothing but clones. Unfortunately, I know of no way to find out.”

“Does is really matter that much?” Kadroh asks. “We’re all individuals now, so we make our own destinies, whatever we used to be!”

Such unrelenting optimism in the face of a total loss of identity and purpose. It’s amazing to think how recently Kadroh was just another part of the hivemind, how recently he lost that connection, and how quickly and thoroughly he has thrown himself into defining himself as an individual. He doesn’t always seem certain what that means, seeming to mostly enjoy expressing his individuality by becoming as brightly colored as possible (yellow and pink are the color choices of the day, though the yellow hair might be left over from last week’s attempts by various princesses to dress him up like a flower.) But he never doubts his individuality, or the path forward that he has chosen. It took Hordak many years to reach that level of confidence in himself ~~if he has, in fact, reached it at all.~~

“I guess it doesn't matter,” Entrapta allows. “Mostly I’m just curious. Also, maybe knowing what species you were before you were clones could help you understand yourselves better.”

“We, personally, have always been clones, regardless of our species.” Hordak reminds her. He knows nothing of this hypothetical species, but is learning more and more about how being a clone has defined him, in ways that he never understood before breaking free of Big Br– _Prime_. Though how free can he really consider himself if he can’t even get the name right?

Entrapta nods, hair twirling around her wrists. “Right, but even if you don’t know anything about them, biologically that’s still your species, right?”

“Unless Prime has altered us beyond recognition.” He certainly altered himself. If nothing else, asymmetrical eye placement is highly unusual in most species. Nature favors symmetry, absent extenuating circumstances.

Kadroh frowns, enthusiasm dampened. “Even if he has, why would it matter? I’m still me, and Hordak’s still Hordak.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Entrapta sighs. It truly is awful to be unable to indulge her curiosity. Such a keen mind should never be denied the chance to explore any and all avenues of interest. “Ohhh, I just sooo wish I had one for comparison. How are we ever supposed to know what’s from being a clone, and what’s just naturally part of your species? What if there’s something your species needs that Prime did without telling you, or worked around, or something, and now you’re not getting it, and it’s putting you in danger? Or, Hordak, what if it has something to do with why you got sick?”

“I doubt me being a flawed clone has anything to do with what my species was like long before cloning began.”

“It could, though. Maybe it has something to do with the original genetic material.”

“Or maybe it was a simple error in the cloning process, which occurs on occasion any time cloning is done on a large scale, with any species.”

“Okay, fine, so maybe it’s not that. But what about how you needed your armor to do almost anything before you went back to Prime, but then when you were with Prime you seemed mostly fine without it? Did Prime make you new armor? I mean, obviously you were wearing armor, but it didn’t seem any different from anyone else’s armor, and you stopped wearing it when you came back, and I haven’t made you new armor yet because I wanted to make the new version even better and you seemed to be doing okay without it, but maybe I should get on that because you seem to be having more trouble lately. Are you getting tired from going so long without it? Oh, or maybe Prime gave you something, some kind of pain killer maybe, that made you feel better, and it lasted a long time because of cool alien tech, but now it’s wearing off.”

She rises up on her hair again, this time to examine his arms. “Except I took readings for comparison right after you came back, and you definitely have more muscle mass than before, or at least you did then. Now that I think of it, I’m not sure when was the last time I saw you pick up anything heavy, or actually put any weight on your arms at all, for that matter, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you wincing sometimes. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it because I know you don’t like that, but now that I think about it, it kind of all fits into a pattern. We should really take some more measurements for comparison.” She pokes at his arm. He pointedly does not wince. That shouldn’t bother him. When they first came back from Prime’s ship, it wouldn’t have bothered him.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Entrapta peers at him skeptically. “Pick me up, then.”

“What?”

“Pick me up.” She holds up her arms like the Etherian children do when reaching for their parents. “You did it right after we came back, when that malfunctioning rotary belt ate my shoes. It was easy!”

Hordak’s fist clenches around a branch of the tree. “I – why would I pick you up?”

“To see if you still can. We need the data! And because it’s fun. You’re very tall.” Her hair loops over his shoulders as if to pull herself up, but makes no effort to actually do so.

Of all the ridiculous things – but it’s Entrapta. Of course he’ll do whatever she wants. Or try, at least, although the effort sounds exhausting. “Alright.”

How hard can it be? He’s fine. Prime fixed him. He doesn’t know how, or when, or why he couldn’t have bothered to do so years ago if it was so easy. Perhaps it was because the repair wasn’t perfect, so he would still have been too weak to be useful. Whatever it was made him just strong enough to be worth the effort of keeping around while he might have information, but then he could also have just as easily been kept for information with his body still falling apart, so why did Prime bother? ~~Big Brother is merciful~~ no he is _not_! He threw Hordak away like trash. That was no mercy, especially when he could have _fixed him_ , could have done it from the very beginning, at least made him good enough that Hordak could have done the rest, could have tried harder, could have made himself overcome this pathetic defect if only Big Brother had wanted to keep him –

“Hordak?”

Entrapta. Entrapta is here. Entrapta’s hair is still draped around his shoulders. A few strands are stroking his lowered ears. Entrapta looks worried.

“Entrapta.” His voice catches.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Her hair brushes something off his face. “Don’t worry about it. We can put this experiment on hold for a while, if you want. Or forever! Forever works, too.”

He’s disappointing Entrapta. That is not acceptable. He clenches his fists. Bark crumbles away under his hands. He looks down. He has dug his claws into the tree. Ridiculous. Unacceptable. He pushes away from the tree. His ears ring. Ridiculous. He’s fine.

Entrapta is waiting. He will not disappoint her. This experiment requires him to pick her up. She is small. This should not be a difficult task.

“Hey, Hordak? Wait just a second. Are you okay? You don’t look okay. Maybe just sit down for a minute?”

He will not fail her. He picks her up. He stumbles. The world goes dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the new warning about Horde-typical levels of ableism. Horde ableism is very bad ableism. Recall Prime's opinions on the subject.

“Hordak!” Entrapta cries, less concerned about him squishing her than she is that he fell over at all. Or fainted, actually. He definitely fainted.

“Brother?! Entrapta?!” Kadroh hovers over them both, waving his hands frantically, trying to be helpful.

“Help me get him off of me. Carefully.”

“Of course!”

Working together, they roll Hordak off of Entrapta. “What happened?” Kadroh demands, helping Entrapta get her hair out from under Hordak's shoulders. “Is he injured? We’re not under attack, are we?” He peers suspiciously into the surrounding forest, but no danger presents itself.

“I don’t think so.” Entrapta runs her hair over Hordak’s body for a quick check, just in case. “Just a few bruises from hitting the ground, I think.” Pretty nasty bruises, from the look of them, but it’s not like she knows what bruises should look like on his skin, anyway. “I need more data. I mean, not from a rigorous, controlled experiment with randomized trials and conditions to control for interfering variables, obviously, because that would be bad, but maybe I could start documenting any injuries the clones get on their own, develop some kind of standard to measure against-”

She takes out her recorder, pulling Hordak into her lap as she does so. “Hordak health log post Prime number–”

Kadroh gasps. “You’re recording this?”

Wrapping her hair around Hordak like a blanket, Entrapta frowns. “Yes? I record all my observations. It’s very important to keep an accurate log of everything. I’m sure I’ve explained that to you.”

“But – but what if someone finds it?”

“No one ever looks at my data, except for Hordak. He’s welcome to any of it, especially the stuff about him. He’s my Lab Partner.”

“But what if someone did? _I’ll_ never tell anyone about any of the times he doesn’t seem quite… _well_ , and of course you won’t, either, but that doesn’t mean no one else would say anything!”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. Maybe I need a better way to secure my data, just in case someone did decide to stick their nose into Hordak’s private business.”

“Right!” Kadroh nods frantically. “This is much too sensitive a subject to just leave information like that lying around.”

“Yeah, I guess Hordak does consider it all pretty embarrassing. I wish he wouldn’t, but I know it’s really hard for him to let himself not be perfect all the time. I thought we were making some progress, back before that little Beast Island problem, but I guess after he got better on Prime’s ship we’re back to square one. I wish I could say I’m surprised he was so stubborn about the picking me up experiment, but I’m really not. I just wish he wouldn’t hurt himself trying to pretend like nothing's wrong!”

Kadroh frowns. “It doesn’t seem like the best strategy. You said he got better on Prime’s ship?”

“Yeah, you know, you’ve seen him. He was pretty close to fine.”

“I’m not sure I’d call this fine.”

“Not this, no. I sure hope he never fainted on Prime’s ship. I don’t think anyone would have wrapped him in a blanket.”

Kadroh shudders. “Definitely not. So is this more usual for him? The fainting, and the… well, he was awfully tired on the way over here, and I think I might have squished him earlier. I don’t think he should be quite so squishable.”

“Right. You know, I actually thought he might still be wearing his armor, when I first found him. I’ve never seen him able to do stuff like that without it.”

“So I wasn’t just imagining it, then. There is something wrong with him. And you said you noticed it too? The way he seems to be in pain sometimes? And how he always puts so much effort into acting like nothing's wrong? I had hoped it was just an injury that hadn’t quite healed yet.”

Entrapta shakes her head, then quickly fixes the strands that pull free from Hordak’s blanket. “No, this is nothing new. It's actually still better than when I met him."

Kadroh flinches. “He was worse than this before?!”

“Oh, yeah, way worse. I mean, I didn’t see him without his armor very much, but without it he couldn’t even walk very far. None of his muscles worked right.”

Tears bead in Kadroh’s eyes. “Oh, poor brother.” He sniffs as he wipes them away.

“Yeah, he was really hard on himself about it, too. Actually, he’d probably be really embarrassed that you’ve even noticed.”

“I will be the soul of discretion!” Kadroh declares. “Now, if Hordak managed to conceal such a defect in a worse state than this–”

Entrapta scowls. “Hey, could you not call it that?” He probably doesn’t mean it like that, but that language is just not okay. It’s bad enough when Hordak does it.

“Call what what? I’m just admiring his resiliency and diligence in concealing such a debilitating defect–”

 _“That!_ ‘Defect’. I’m really trying to get Hordak to see that his imperfections aren’t some horrible thing that he should be ashamed of, and talking like that doesn’t help. You don’t think he should be ashamed, do you?”

“What? No! No, he has nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I admire him! To be cast out, ripped away from the hivemind, completely _alone_ ,” Kadroh shudders, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m not sure I would have survived. I don’t know how anyone could. And then to overcome all that to build his own empire! Not that anyone should be building empires, but none of us knew that back then, so it’s still impressive. And to have his body be – what should I call it, if not a defect?”

“Um, it kind of depends? There are lots of ways to talk about it, depending what exactly you’re talking about, but I don’t actually know what terms he likes because we don’t actually talk about it too often.”

“Oh, of course! We probably shouldn’t even be talking about it now.” He glares suspiciously into the surrounding trees again. “I don’t think anyone is around, but we shouldn’t take chances.”

“I guess not. I just wish he wouldn’t worry about it so much. He’s amazing, and his imperfections just make him more amazing. If other people can’t see that, that’s their problem.”

Kadroh nods. “He is amazing.” Then his ears flatten as he frowns. “Although, what do you mean by ‘that’s their problem’?”

“Oh, it’s an expression, I guess. Kind of. It just means, um, that we don’t need to worry about what they think because it’s not any of their business anyway. Or, I mean, that’s what I mean by using it right now. Expressions are kind of hard to explain. Maybe that’s why people are so bad at explaining them to me. But anyway, I think that’s the best way to describe what I mean by it right now, even if it’s not exactly what it means.”

“That’s alright. I’ve heard the expression, and I think I know what it means. I just don’t understand how it applies here. Wouldn’t it be our problem more than theirs? Especially Hordak’s?”

“Yeah, he’s not great at not worrying what people think of him, at least people who matter. He’s always got to look so tough, like nothing can ever hurt him. I’m trying to get him to see that he doesn’t have to work so hard to hide his vulnerabilities all the time, even at the cost of hurting himself, but it’s kind of a work in progress.”

Kadroh’s ears twitch. “What?”

“Oh, you know how he is. Always Mr. grumpy, which some people understand, but some people just think he’s mean. I’ve been studying the interactions within and between friend groups, lately, and one of the most effective strategies for joining a group that used to be your enemy seems to involve sharing some kind of vulnerability with them. Just look at Catra! She got along with everyone way better once we worked together to get that chip out of her neck than when she used to go around electrocuting people and dumping them on islands to die! Not that I’m going to pressure Hordak into sharing anything he doesn’t want to share, but I would like to get him a little more comfortable with the idea so he at least doesn’t have to worry about it all the time.”

She checks Kadroh’s face for signs of understanding. There aren’t any that she can see. His ears are down. He’s upset. “Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you agreed that Hordak didn’t have anything to be ashamed of.” Judging people for their imperfections really doesn’t seem like Kadroh. Maybe she hasn’t known him for very long, and of course she’s not good at people at all, but surely she would have picked up on that by now. If people are going to judge someone for being weird, they’re definitely going to judge her too. She would have noticed if Kadroh was like that. Right?

Kadroh shakes his head emphatically, ears flapping. “NO! He has _nothing_ to be ashamed of. But that doesn’t mean it’s safe to let other people see.”

“But it is safe! That’s what I’m trying to get him to see. No one who matters would care. It’s fine if he doesn’t want anyone making a big deal about it, but it’s not fine if he hurts himself like this because he’s trying not to even let _me_ see that anything’s wrong!”

Kadroh pats one of the few tendrils of her hair that aren’t still wrapped around Hordak. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to imply that he needed to hide his weakness from you.”

Entrapta pats Kadroh’s hand with that same piece of hair, then wraps it back around Hordak. “I know that. He always lets me help, or at least he did before the whole Beast Island, portal, galactic horde thing. Now it’s like… like he’s decided he’s better now, and he’s too scared to admit he might not be. I just want him to see that it’s okay, y’know? He doesn’t have to hide it from me. He doesn’t actually _have_ to hide it from anyone! It’s like you said, he–”

“WHAT? No, no, I said no such thing! Just because I admire how he’s handled it does NOT mean he doesn’t still need to keep it a secret! I didn’t say that at all!”

“But he doesn’t! Our new friends can be a little judgy sometimes, and they’re _really_ bad at saying what they mean, but they are actually good people, and they can learn. I want to help Hordak see that he doesn’t have to be so scared of them finding out he’s not perfect… um, are you okay?” Kadroh looks almost as pale as Hordak did before he passed out. Which is saying something, because their faces are supposed to be pale.

“I – you really want to let other people know about Hordak’s… imperfections?”

“Yeah? I mean, not without his permission. Actually, I don’t care whether they know or not; it’s not like it’s any of their business. I just want to help Hordak not worry about it so much. He needs to be able to relax, especially if they’re going to keep bothering him about silly things like restoring Etheria. He’s way too tense. And overworked.”

“You want him to relax about the possibility of other people finding out that he’s unwell. That’s he’s been unwell for quite some time and has not recovered. That whatever seemed to have helped him recover isn’t working anymore?”

“Yeah? I mean, he doesn’t _have_ to let them know, although my friendship observations do tentatively support the hypothesis that sometimes sharing your problems with your friends can make those problems easier to deal with. I’d need more data to be sure, and I’m not sure if Hordak actually considers anyone else his friend, but I don’t think it’s good for him to be so stressed out about it. He’s relaxing more around them about other things, so I just want to encourage him not to worry about that, either.” Kadroh still looks… What’s that expression? That’s definitely a serious expression. It’s… oh. Horrified. That’s what that expression is. Oops. “Kadroh?”

Kadroh opens and closes his mouth several times before answering. “You - why would you _do_ such a thing?! You want to encourage him not to worry about it? What bigger thing could there be to worry about? Of course he doesn’t want anyone to know. Why would _you_ want anyone to know? I thought you cared about him! Obviously, you do care about him, so how can you treat this so – so cavalierly?! Do you want him to be–” his voice lowers to a whisper, “ _culled?_ ”

“No! I – Wait. What?”

“Culled! For his defect!” His eyes widen, and he looks around frantically. “THE DEFECT THAT DEFINITELY DOES NOT EXIST! THERE’S NO DEFECT TO SPEAK OF! I DON’T KNOW WHY WE’RE EVEN SPEAKING ABOUT DEFECTS, BECAUSE NO ONE HAS ONE! ALL PERFECTLY HEALTHY PERFECT CLONES OF HORDE PRIME HERE, WHO IS DEFINITELY EVIL BUT DID VERY SUCCESSFULLY MAKE NOTHING BUT PERFECTLY HEALTHY, NON-EVIL CLONES!”

“Kadroh! What are you doing? Who are you even talking to?”

“I have no idea, but whoever they are, they should know that they’ve imagined this entire conversation, because there are no defective clones, and if they decide otherwise and put my brother in danger of being culled then they will quickly find themselves with a BLASTER THROUGH THEIR HEADS!”

“Okay, wait, wait, wait, just wait a minute. First of all, maybe don’t let the other princesses know that you’re willing to shoot someone’s head off.”

“ONLY IF THEY PUT HORDAK IN DANGER!”

“I’m pretty sure they still wouldn't like that. They’re very against fatal head damage. Anyway, second of all, I’m pretty sure we don’t have any weapons with us.”

“Can you build one from the parts we have available?”

“Well, yeah, if I borrow some from our ship–”

“Then the threat remains! Now whoever is out there–”

“ _Third_ of all, I’m pretty sure no one is out there.”

“WE CAN’T TAKE THAT CHANCE!”

“We can, actually, because–”

“Do you not understand the danger we're discussing?”

“I understand that you think there’s danger, but–”

“I DON'T THINK IT; I KNOW IT! Do you know what happens to defective clones?”

“Kind of. Hordak told me Prime sent him to the front lines to die after he found out about–”

“That’s one possibility! We can’t let his incredible efforts to survive be in vain.”

“Wait, do you really think someone is going to try to kill Hordak? Well, actually, there’s lots of people who want to kill Hordak, but not for his disability.”

“BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW ABOUT IT!”

“ _And_ because we don’t do things like that here! Look, I know people aren’t always as nice and accepting as they seem to think they are, and they aren’t always as good at being friends as they think they are, but nobody’s going to kill Hordak for not being perfect.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s not a thing normal people do.”

“Are you sure? Everyone knows it happens. Defective clones are culled. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. Nothing – I – I don’t think anyone has even tried.”

“Okay, first, that’s horrible, but also, just because something was normal in Horde Prime’s horde doesn’t mean it’s normal anywhere else. You know that.”

“I – I do know that. And I won’t let them! I can stop them now, I – I can act when something is wrong, and I can know what’s wrong, regardless of what Big Brother says, and I WILL NOT LET THEM CULL MY BROTHER!”

“Appreciated,” the bundle of hair in Entrapta’s lap mumbles.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hi, Hordak!” Entrapta cheers, unwrapping a tendril of hair to wave at him.

“Hello?” Greetings don’t seem quite the appropriate response to awakening in someone’s lap, wrapped in their hair, but it’s often best to follow Entrapta’s lead with such things.

“HELLO, BROTHER!” And that would be Kadroh, who appears to believe that Hordak’s life is in danger. Not… _entirely_ unjustified. Though it also appears that Hordak has nothing to fear in that regard from Kadroh himself, which is a relief, much as he would have liked for the topic to never come up.

“You know?” he asks the overly-enthusiastic clone.

Kadroh nods with the most solemn expression Hordak has ever seen from him. “Only sort of. I had noticed a few… peculiarities? But I don’t know what the def– what’s actually wrong, and I didn’t think it was any of my business.”

“It’s not,” Hordak grumbles, but softens when Kadroh’s ears droop. “That is… I prefer no one to know, but if someone must… I can trust your discretion?”

“Of course! I would never tell. That would just be… I would never!”

“Very well.” Brushing most of Entrapta’s hair aside, Hordak struggles up onto his elbows. As pleasant as it would be to spend the day wrapped in Entrapta’s hair, it would be a terrible idea for a variety of reasons. “Regardless, it’s mostly irrelevant now. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure about that?” Entrapta asks as her hair helps him to his feet. "Because I’m not sure fainting counts as fine."

He only stumbles once on the way up, which is hardly worth acknowledging, although he does nod in thanks when she catches him. “Certainly. For all of his flaws, Prime did heal me.” He quirks a smile at Kadroh. “So there is no reason to remove any heads on my behalf.”

Kadroh looks uncertain. “Are you sure, though?”

“About the heads? Yes. The princesses would disapprove.”

“No, about – I do see what you’re saying about the heads, and I wouldn’t do it unless it was necessary–”

“It won’t be necessary.”

“But I mean, and I think Entrapta means, too, that you don’t seem very… healed?” Kadroh’s shoulders hunch at Hordak’s glare.

“I’m healed enough. Any lingering defects will just have to be dealt with. It’s manageable.”

Entrapta brushes his check with her hair. “Fainting isn’t something you should just have to deal with. Neither is your muscles hurting. Let’s get back to Bright Moon, and we’ll see what we can come up with using the equipment we have available. I doubt we can get anything quite as good as your last armor without an actual lab to work in, but we can definitely come up with something that’ll help in the short term.”

Hordak will never get over the way Entrapta looks after his comfort. It’s just… an entirely alien concept, though a pleasant one. But still… “That’s not necessary. Even if I’m no longer quite as… _well-built_ as my brothers,” he refuses to look longingly at the clearly defined muscles of Kadroh’s arms, “Prime did heal me. I’m near enough to well that it doesn’t matter.”

“It does too matter!” Entrapta exclaims, turning him around to face her directly. “If it’s hurting you, it matters.”

“I–” Why won’t she let this go? Why did he even let this become a topic of discussion in the first place? “I will endeavor not to foolishly overexert myself again.” He pulls free from her hair and begins walking back towards the ship. It’s quite the distance away. ~~It’s not that far, he’s just exhausted.~~ If he is, it’s his own fault. He knows better than to make himself more of a burden than he already is.

“Hordak!” He firmly ignores the sounds of the two of them scrambling to collect their supplies from the clearing. They’ll catch up with him. Anyone could catch up with him at this pace. His knees hurt. They must have hit the ground when he fell. It doesn't matter. He's fine.

As expected, he’s soon bracketed on either side by two far-too-energetic bundles of worry that refuse to believe he’s FINE. He’s fine.

“–if you’d just let me take a few readings–”

“–maybe we should go in the back way so we don’t–”

“–Emily could probably–”

“–to get some more rest–”

“–just a basic support framework–”

“I’M _FINE!_ ” he roars, making them both jump.

Entrapta flips her mask over her face and hides behind a curtain of hair. Kadroh drops halfway into a _kneel_ before shooting back to his feet and backing into a tree. Damn it.

“I – that was uncalled for. I – ah - you didn’t – you both did nothing wrong.” The fault was in Hordak, as it always is.

“We might have been a little bit pushy,” Entrapta admits, loosening her hair. Her mask remains over her face.

“Your concern is… understandable. Simply unnecessary.”

Kadroh open his mouth as if to speak, but says nothing. His ears remain pinned back. At least he stops trying to melt into the tree.

“Um…” Entrapta’s hair forms hands, which twiddle their thumbs. “I’m not sure concern has to actually be _necessary_ …”

“There is nothing to be concerned about.” Entrapta’s expression is hidden, but Kadroh’s ears show skepticism. “There isn’t! I’m…” he looks away. “Perhaps not entirely fine, but well enough. Big brother – _Prime_ healed me.”

“‘Big brother’ didn’t do anything for anyone,” Kadroh says quietly.

“Of course he didn’t.”

“But you just said–”

“I know what I said!” And now Kadroh’s ears are down again. Fantastic. “I – ah… Perhaps I could use some rest.” That would explain everything; the fainting, the muscles that ached even before he foolishly insisted on lifting Entrapta, the abhorrent way he’s speaking to two of the most tolerable people in the known universe… yes, exhaustion is a reasonable explanation. His defect is not returning. It’s not. ~~It never really left.~~ It’s _not_.

“Okay, Hordak,” Entrapta says quietly, wrapping a pigtail each around Hordak’s and Kadroh’s shoulders and guiding them forward, “let’s just go home.”

“Fine.”

Entrapta’s hair brushes his face apologetically, and, well, he’s not _angry._ Not at her. Not at either of them. They did nothing wrong. They’re only concerned. They don’t know that he’s fine. All they know is that he fainted, and couldn’t lift Entrapta, and has apparently been showing various signs of difficulty and discomfort, which is going to have to stop, because what if someone else notices?

Adora freed him and doesn’t seem inclined to hold his attempted conquest of Etheria against him, and the others seem inclined to follow her lead as long as he’s sufficiently helpful in repairing this planet, but that doesn’t mean they’ll tolerate the risk of uselessness. He isn’t useless! He… well, he made a rather pathetic attempt at conquering a primitive planet to give to someone who cared nothing for his efforts, but given his condition at the time, he didn’t do too terribly. He’s much stronger now, and he has _allies_ , true allies who aren’t searching for the slightest opportunity to stab him in the back. There’s no reason he can’t be useful. That doesn’t mean someone less charitable than Entrapta couldn’t decide he isn’t useful enough, if they began to suspect something might be wrong with him. Never mind the utter humiliation of displaying his defect for all to see.

He has an opportunity to be something other than defective, and he won’t waste it. Prime’s merciful gift – No, Prime is _not_ merciful and he gives _nothing!_ But regardless, Hordak is healed, and he’s going to stay that way. ~~Through will power alone?~~ If necessary. He’s done more with less.

“Ooh, there she is!” Entrapta exclaims, releasing them both to bound over to greet their small ship. With the loss of the support that he didn’t realize he was leaning into, Hordak stumbles into Kadroh.

“Oh! I’ve got you, brother!” Kadroh’s arms keep him upright ~~obnoxious over-muscled things~~ and Hordak very forcefully does _not_ snarl at him, because he’s already nearly made Kadroh feel like he had to _kneel_ once today, and that is inexcusable. Kadroh apparently takes this as permission to wrap Hordak in a hug, though fortunately not one quite as suffocating as the one on the path away from the ship. This one is warm, stable, secure, washing him in waves of _concern-care-admiration-worryworryworry_ – What?

What is _that?!_ That is not Hordak. Those are not his feelings! He pushes desperately away from the blanket of feelings that _are. not. his._

“What did you do?!” he demands.

Kadroh merely looks bewildered. “I DON’T KNOW! I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER BUT THEN I FELT YOU FEELING WORSE BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW I FELT THAT! CAN WE EVEN DO THAT ANYMORE?”

“Quiet, fool! You’ll wake the whole forest!”

“Guys?” Entrapta pops her head out of the ship. “What’s going on?”

“WE DON’T KNOW!" Kadroh cries. "IT FELT LIKE THE HIVEMIND BUT NOT REALLY BECAUSE IT WAS JUST FEELINGS BUT–”

“ _But_ the hivemind is gone, so we can’t do that anymore. So that is clearly not what it was.” Though something in him craves the return of that connection that he so briefly regained, nothing good could come of it. Besides, it's impossible.

“Well it was obviously _something!”_

“Hmm,” Entrapta says, taking out her recorder, “Hordak and Kadroh appear to have experienced some kind of previously unknown mental connection – you know what?” Her gaze darts back and forth between them. “Maybe data can wait. Let’s just get you on the ship.”

Why would she stop? Entrapta never delays recording data. Certain details might be forgotten. She’s putting her recorder away with an incomplete message. This is all wrong. Why did she do that? Why is she –

Now she’s out of the ship, coming towards him. She takes one of his arms from Kadroh, supporting him with her hair while Kadroh supports his other side, both of them walking him towards the ship – he should protest. He’s perfectly capable of walking by himself, but they’re almost there. Then they’re through the door, backing him into a seat – oh.

Oh. Oh, that feels wonderful. How did he never notice how comfortable these seats are? They’re tall enough to keep his legs at a comfortable angle, and to support his back… and now Entrapta and Kadroh are stuffing blankets around him, taking even more strain off of his back. Why do they even have blankets on this ship? It’s not meant for long distance travel. It’s barely even a ship. Regardless, it’s wonderful. Why, exactly, was he so resistant to this? There must have been a reason.

It doesn’t matter. Entrapta has started lightly scratching his ears, and Kadroh is warm and fond – wasn’t there a reason to be concerned about that? That he knows what Kadroh feels? That was a problem, wasn't it? Eh. Deal with it later. Later is the time for whatever that is. Now is the time for sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Entrapta and Kadroh share a sigh of relief once Hordak is safely asleep. Bundling him in blankets was a risk, but definitely worth it. He was not looking good at the end of the walk to the ship.

Kadroh hovers anxiously over Hordak as Entrapta takes the pilot seat. “Is that what you meant by ‘worse’?”

“Hmm?” With one more glance at her lab partner, Entrapta sets the course for home and engages the autopilot. These little horde ships do a great job of independent lower-atmospheric flight. It was almost worth the whole invasion thing to get access to all this new technology. Well, not really, but new technology plus freeing Hordak and all of his brothers from Prime forever? Definitely worth it.

The ship lurches suddenly into the air, as they’re prone to do. Kadroh stumbles, but easily catches himself against a wall, seeming unconcerned. That might explain this model’s tendency to fling itself around, if it was designed for a much less fragile species than the typical Etherian. Maybe that’s why there hasn’t been too much competition to use them, despite how amazing they are. She should probably put modifying the acceleration and deceleration protocols on her list of projects so other people can use them too, although maybe she’ll just keep this one with the original programming so everyone else will stick with the other ones…

“I mean Hordak. Does this count as him getting worse?”

“Huh? Oh.” Ship proceeding safely at reasonable lower-atmospheric speeds, Entrapta returns to Hordak’s side. “Yeah, he really doesn’t look too good.” His complexion is still off, and they had to adjust the blankets a lot before he lost that pinched, pained expression, and he was shaking by the time they got to the ship – although that could have been more from distress over whatever happened between him and Kadroh. Which really deserves more investigation, but stabilizing him physically should probably take higher priority. Maybe. It’s at least the part she has the most experience helping with. “Hopefully he just overworked his muscles a little bit. He should get better with some rest.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Kadroh’s ears relax from the pinned position they’ve been in since the incident. He tucks a loose corner of blanket back behind Hordak’s neck, letting his hand linger where it brushes skin. Then his eyes widen and he pulls his hand away like it’s been burned.

“What’s wrong?” Entrapta asks. Hordak isn’t wearing any armor – and she _has_ to fix that after today, no more pretending he’s fine without it – so there shouldn’t be anything to spark or cut his hand or anything.

“NOTHING! Ahem. Nothing. Everything is fine! Just making sure brother Hordak is comfortable!” Kadroh’s ears are pinned back again, and his hands are up… defensively?

Yeah, that’s defensive body language. Why? “You pulled your hand away. You usually like touching people, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but, um, it… didn’t work out very well last time?” He lowers his hands, but his ears stay pinned back.

“What do you mean?” Entrapta lays a reassuring tendril of hair on his shoulder.

He looks at it suspiciously, but apparently the hair passes inspection because he lets it stay. “You know, the… the… hivemind… ish… thing?”

“Oh, that! That was _fascinating!_ I thought you said the hivemind was gone? You got disconnected from it when Bow shot you, and then everyone got disconnected when Prime died, and–” Kadroh makes a distressed little chitter. His shoulders hunch up to his ears, which have started drooping. There’s water in his eyes… oh no. “Why are you sad?”

“I don’t know. I… I am not sad. There’s nothing to be sad about! Why would I be sad? We should all rejoice in our freedom from Prime’s tyranny! NEVER AGAIN WILL HIS LIES OVERWRITE OUR THOUGHTS–” Hordak shifts, and Kadroh winces. “Sorry, brother,” he whispers. “All is well. Go back to sleep.”

“If all is well, then why are you shouting?” Hordak grumbles, slits of red peeking out beneath his eyelids.

“I was simply… actually, I have no idea. I did not mean to wake you. Please go back to sleep. You must rest, so you can recover enough to return to Brightmoon.”

“I am recovered enough already.” Hordak starts to stand, but quickly falls back against the seat with a moan. “Or perhaps I will be in a few minutes.”

“How about you just take it easy,” Entrapta says, readjusting his blankets while Kadroh darts up front to do something to the ship’s controls. A sudden change in course and deceleration almost send her into a wall, but her hair cushions her nicely.

“It appears I have little choice,” Hordak grumbles, but his ears relax, and he does that tiny smile thing that most people don’t notice as she finishes readjusting his blanket, so he probably doesn’t mind too much. “Is there a reason this ship just engaged in some kind of evasive maneuver?”

“No reason!” Kadroh calls from the pilot's seat. “I just thought, since we don’t have anywhere to be today, we might just take a small detour - take a look at a few construction sites from the air, see how the work is going, that sort of thing.”

“We have our own work to return to,” Hordak objects, trying to stand again. Entrapta’s hair pushes him gently back into his chair before he gets far enough to fall over. He scowls at the hair pressing against his shoulders, but makes no effort to remove it. “There is too much to be done to waste time sightseeing when none of us are currently acting in any kind of supervisory capacity.” Entrapta’s hair wraps the fallen blankets back around him. He lets his head fall sideways to rest on a fold of fabric on his shoulder, then shakes his head and glares at them both. “Cease this ridiculous coddling!” He notably does not push the blankets away, though.

Entrapta is undeterred. Taking care of Hordak takes persistence. “But it makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” A few strands of hair brush his ear, but pull away when he hisses.

“That is irrelevant.”

“Well it's not irrelevant to me. Or to Kadroh, right?”

“RIGHT! There is nothing wrong with being comfortable, brother!”

“There, see? You’re outvoted. Two out of three people on this ship want you to be comfortable. So are you comfortable or not?”

“This is hardly a democracy.”

“Nope, it’s a friendship. And friends take care of each other. So do lab partners. Is there a different way you’d like to be taken care of instead?”

“I would like to get back to work.”

“We already decided there’s nothing we need to do today. That's why we were having a picnic.”

“I’m certain you have some projects you could be working on.”

“Not much in Brightmoon. Although we do need to figure out some temporary armor for you.”

“I do not need temporary armor,” he growls. “I am fine.”

Why is he being so stubborn about this? He let her make him armor last time! “Well maybe I want you to be better than fine.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you shouldn’t have to just be fine. Why should you have to go around being fine all the time? Everyone on this ship already knows you’re hurting, so why can’t you just take a break from being fine and take a few minutes to just be comfortable?”

“There is no time for–”

“I’ve set a course for at least ninety five minutes traveling between construction sites!” Kadroh calls.

“Then change the course. This is ludicrous. I cannot afford to spend ninety five minutes sitting in a chair on a purposeless mission while the vast majority of reconstruction remains unfinished.”

“Can you afford not to?” Kadroh asks quietly. His drooping ears are visible over the back of the pilot seat.

“What do you mean? Speak plainly.”

Kadroh turns around to face them. “Well… Entrapta insists that it’s safe. And I’m sure there are many other Etherians just like her! Or not just like her, but just as kind, or almost just as kind, anyway, but what I mean is that I’m sure most of them wouldn’t mean any harm, but how can we know, really, without the hive- but anyway, I don’t think it’s entirely safe for us to land right now.”

“What in Prime’s name – no, that is…” Hordak sighs. “What are you rambling about? Did I not say to speak plainly?”

Kadroh winces, then steels himself. “Your defect. Well, your… anyway, it’s very obvious right now.”

“That is none of your–!”

“I DON’T MEAN THAT IN A BAD WAY!”

“Then in what way do you mean it?!”

“I just mean – PLEASE BROTHER PLEASE JUST STAY SAFE ON THIS SHIP UNTIL YOU ARE FEELING BETTER. AT LEAST UNTIL YOU CAN WALK WITHOUT FALLING DOWN. PLEASE, BROTHER!”

“Ah.” Apparently, that’s all Hordak needs to hear to understand. He doesn’t seem to be disagreeing, either.

Didn’t they already address this problem? “Um, guys? I promise no one in the Princess Alliance is going to kill Hordak for his disability. They’re really, really not.”

“I’m sure you do believe that, Entrapta,” Kadroh says, “and I know they’re all wonderful people, and I know they’re working very hard to make everything work out, but…”

“But I am not inclined to put my life in the hands of my enemies,” Hordak states. “Not over this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call them enemies,” Kadroh hedges. “Maybe Mermista. She doesn’t seem to like you very much. But that’s beside the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Entrapta flips her mask over her face. “They’re not our enemies. Hordak, you’ve been working with them, and everything seemed fine. Unless I missed something?” She could have missed something. She could easily have missed something. Maybe everyone has been treating Hordak badly right in front of her face, and she’s just been running around blindly trying to be friends with all of them while they mistreat her lab partner. Maybe that’s why these two won’t believe her.

“You did not miss anything,” Hordak reassures her. From him she can usually believe that, except when it comes to his own wellbeing. “I simply cannot afford to let them think I am becoming useless.”

Kadroh nods. If he could stop agreeing with Hordak’s self-esteem issues, that would be great.

“You’re not useless,” Entrapta insists, “and what would it matter if you were?”

“It matters because much of the peace between the Princess Alliance and the Etherian horde depends on our ability to make amends, _without_ giving the princesses full authority over my former soldiers. Perhaps former force captains Scorpia and Catra could continue that process without my assistance, but both lack experience in this area and both must contend with divided allegiances. My assistance is also required in incorporating the former members of the galactic horde into the general populace of Etheria, and we have not even begun to deal with the consequences of Horde Prime’s fall in other parts of his empire. The scope of the task before us is nearly beyond comprehension, and no one is going to see any utility in keeping a defective clone in such a role.”

Oh, Hordak. Entrapta sits on the arm of his chair and wraps her hair around his shoulders. She really shouldn’t be surprised. No wonder he wants to be fine so badly. “You know you don’t have to deal with all of that yourself, right?” 

“I am aware that it could probably be done without me, yes, which is why I would rather not incentivize the princesses to begin considering how to do so.”

“No one’s trying to get rid of you.”

“Mermista.”

“Okay, so one person’s trying to get rid of you. But no one else is. They’re all just trying to make this work. At least I think they are.” Not that the other princesses have ever made much sense to her, but they’re not as bad as Hordak is thinking. Right?

“They are… trying. I believe. And succeeding reasonably well, given the number of factors in contention. And I… I am trying. As I have tried before. But doing so with my body failing… it is difficult. I no longer have my sanctum. Any attempt to evade their supervision only causes suspicion. I cannot afford to let my defect return. Or… or if I cannot prevent it, I – I have no intention of presenting my uselessness to them all on a silver platter.” His ears are pinned back, and his face is tight… he’s scared. He’s really, really scared. Oh, Hordak.

How can she even help? She doesn’t know how to do these conversations. Robots are so much easier. Emily doesn’t care that her leg sticks, or whether anyone knows about it. Kadroh is no help, because he just keeps nodding along, like everything Hordak is saying makes perfect sense. All the other clones probably think the same way. How can anything she says ever fight that? “Um, okay, I see why all that would be easier if your body worked better, but it… it just doesn’t. Your body isn’t perfect. It’s okay that it isn’t perfect. Imperfections are beautiful, remember?”

Hordak’s lips twitch into a smile, but he shakes his head. “I understand, and… and _appreciate_ that imperfections are beautiful to you. That does not mean that our reluctant allies share that philosophy. They tolerate my presence because I am useful. To jeopardize that tolerance would be foolish.”

“But…” but what can she really say to that? They mostly see her that way, too, don’t they? Would they keep her around if she wasn’t so useful in dealing with all the new tech and figuring out whatever new crisis happens with the clones? “Most people here aren’t like that. At least not as bad as Prime. People don’t have to be useful to be allowed to live. I know… maybe you haven’t interacted with very many people, except as enemies or subordinates–”

“I have had allies in the past.”

“You have?”

“Yes. They did nothing to contradict my assessment.”

“Oh.” There’s a story there. Probably a bad story. Probably also not helpful to get into right now. “Okay, so maybe I don’t actually know how people would react if they knew about your disability, except that I definitely know we don’t kill people for that here.”

“Are you really, really sure?” Kadroh interjects.

“Yes. I’m really, really sure, and I’m also really, really sure that if anyone tried, we could make them regret it.” Kadroh looks more reassured by that than by anything else she’s said. “But also, Hordak, where are you getting the idea that being disabled makes you useless?”

“I fainted after trying to pick you up, and am currently trapped in a pile of blankets. Neither of you is confident enough in my ability to walk to let me off this ship, which I do actually appreciate, despite my objections, because I have no desire to make a fool of myself in front of the entire population of Brightmoon. What part of that suggests that I am anything other than useless?”

“The part where you were in just as bad a shape when you conquered half the planet.”

“I could certainly walk then, and it could just as easily be said that I failed to conquer the entire planet.”

“Which would have made our job now even harder, so in this case, failure is great! And there were definitely times when you got this bad, or worse, especially if you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I could not have done any of it without my armor.”

“Which you built for yourself a long time before I made your latest version.”

“A version which was infinitely preferable to any of my flawed attempts before you.”

“Mine was flawed too, but you still conquered Salineas with it.”

“Which is part of our current problem with Mermista.”

“Why is it that your opinion on conquering Etheria always changes based on which one makes you look worse?”

“It does not, and that is beside the point.”

“The _point_ is that you’re not useless, even if whatever happened on Prime’s ship has worn off. Not that you have to be useful, anyway, but you actually are.”

“Only with my armor–”

“Then let’s make you some new armor.”

“I should not require such support.”

“But you do, so let’s get you some. We don’t even have to tell anyone what it’s for. It can just be really amazing armor.”

“Which they will immediately interpret as an attempt to resume conquering Etheria.”

“Yes, but… okay, actually, that’s a good point. So we build something armor-like, but not actually armor, until this whole thing gets settled enough that we can move to Dryl and update my lab and build you some real armor.”

“But…” Entrapta smiles winningly at him. He stares at her for a while, then shuts his mouth. “Very well. The current situation is impractical. I agree that something must be done. For now… Kadroh, where, precisely, are we going?”

“A lot of places! Right now, that village, I suppose.” He points to a settlement approaching on the lower left of the viewing screen. “Not that we’ll be landing. I thought we might just hover over it, see how the construction is going.” The ship slows to a halt, rather gently for this model. Kadroh peers down at the construction site below them, then frowns, ears tilting. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Entrapta asks. That doesn’t sound good. It sounds even less good when Hordak struggles free of his blankets and stumbles over to the viewscreen. “What’s wrong?” Her hair walks her over to join them. “Oh. That’s not good.”

The village below them is in the midst of heavy reconstruction. The construction crew seems to consist entirely of clones. Very upset clones. Some are arguing. Some are shouting. Some are huddled anxiously away from the shouting ones. A few can be seen hiding in corners.

“WE MUST HELP THEM!” Kadroh shouts.

“Isn’t there someone down there to…?” But there’s no one around. Being a therapist to a bunch of traumatized clones was never part of Entrapta’s plan for her life, but, well… She glances between her own, personal, traumatized clones. “Should we…?” Is Hordak even up for dealing with this? It doesn't seem likely, but they can’t just leave them like that.

“Yes.” Hordak nods, straightening into perfect posture, ears neutral and alert. “Land the ship.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hordak braces himself in the doorway, ignoring the burning in his arms and back. He is – not fine, exactly. Continuing to insist on that is rather ridiculous, at this point, but he is well enough. At least well enough to deal with whatever catastrophe is unfolding outside of the ship.

The clones outside are clearly part of a construction crew, although no construction seems to be occurring. Such crews are a common sight these days. There was quite a ferocious debate in the first few days after Prime’s defeat about whether the clones should be required to help with Etheria’s recovery efforts – as well as what exactly the morally upstanding Princess Alliance proposed to do to any of these recently freed slaves if they chose not to cooperate. The argument seemed poised to cause significant fractures within the Etherian leadership, but was quickly derailed by the clones' desperation to be given a task, any task, that could give their existence some semblance of meaning. Hordak can certainly relate to the feeling, as well as to the relief of finding a purpose – even if he now regrets the particularly foolish purpose he chose.

“Where’s their supervisor?” Kadroh asks, ears pinned back and frowning. Hordak scans the crowd, but there is no supervisor to be found. Surely they must have one. Most members of the Galactic Horde have been excellent students of Etherian skills, but no one would require them to complete such an involved task independently. Standard procedure is to assign each group at least one carefully selected and trained supervisor, to serve the role of counselor as much as teacher and leader. Failure to provide such an individual tends to lead to… well, this.

“Missing, I guess. Let’s go see what’s wrong.” Entrapta ducks underneath Hordak’s arm, which has been blocking the exit to the ship for much too long. With a sigh, Hordak follows her out into the open, Kadroh trailing behind.

The construction site is utter chaos. As they could see from the sky, clones are arguing, shouting, crying, and hiding. Distinguishing one argument from another is difficult, but the gist of the problem slowly appears from the competing fragments of conversation.

“-if the box wasn’t empty, there would be more nails in it-!”

“-well clearly you’ve failed to understand-”

“-shouldn’t you put something on that?”

“-there aren’t any bandages and I do not-”

“-there are plenty of nails!”

“-screws leftover from yesterday’s framing be better, anyway?”

“ELIRA SAID TO USE THE NAILS!”

“-clearly unstable, so maybe we should-”

“It was constructed exactly to plan! Are you questioning Elira’s plan?!”

“No, but the plan did not say anything about a support beam falling-”

“Heretic!”

“Elira isn’t Prime.”

“HERETIC!!!”

“-at least stop the bleeding.”

“I am perfectly functional!”

“Yes, of course, but-”

“Elira is better than Big Brother.”

“Big Brother wouldn’t leave us in this disaster.”

“HOW DARE YOU!?”

“HOW DARE _YOU!?”_

“HERETICS, ALL OF YOU!”

“Maybe we should just-”

“-keep it off your shirt-”

“Elira said-”

“-don’t have any medical supplies, but it is perfectly alright.”

“It is not. You have blood dripping down your face.”

“I AM _FINE!”_

“-would not have fallen if we had just followed the plan.”

“We _did_ follow the plan!”

“Clearly we did not or this would not have happened.”

“-should have used more nails.”

“THERE AREN’T ANY MORE NAILS!”

“THEN WE ARE NOT MEANT TO HAVE THEM!”

“Clearly they were needed-”

“-still could just use the screws-”

“Elira has provided all that we need.”

“ELIRA IS NO ONE'S BIG BROTHER!”

“SHE IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE!”

“THAT IS MY POINT!”

“-could tear bandages out of your shirt.”

“Elira gave this to me!”

“It already has blood on it.”

“WHAT?! NONONONONO ELIRA GAVE THIS TO ME!”

“Maybe we can clean it?”

“-LYING HERETICAL _ABOMINATION!”_

“That is enough talk of heresy. Elira said-”

“-use the screws to put it back up there?”

“Elira said to use the nails.”

“-sit down?”

_“I am fully functional!”_

“Yes, but-”

“Perhaps we could find more nails?”

“THERE ARE NO MORE NAILS!”

“Then perhaps we were meant to use the screws.”

“The screws are for the entranceway. Elira made no mention of-”

“Maybe she forgot?”

 _“HERESY!_ SHUT YOUR LYING HERETICAL MOUTH AND mmff-“

“Shut your own mouth if you cannot stop speaking about heresy. If you cannot listen to Elira’s instructions- _OW-“_

“DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT ELIRA’S INSTRUCTIONS! AS IF YOU-!”

 **“ENOUGH!”** Hordak roars at the sight of Entrapta flipping her mask over her face. Silence rings across the construction site. “Now, what is going on here?” Half of the clones start talking at once. **“SILENCE!”** Again, immediate silence. At least they seem prone to excessive cooperation, instead of furious defiance against the demons that stole their god. Both responses are unfortunate, but this one is much more convenient. “You.” He points to a clone who seemed to be trying to interject a voice of reason into the previous cacophony. “What name have you chosen?”

The clone stands at attention. “Emma is my current preference.”

“Very well.” Hordak folds his hands behind his back and paces closer. “Emma. What, precisely, is the problem?”

“The problem is… it is… we are arguing?” Emma’s ears droop.

Hordak sighs. “I can see that. What are you arguing _about?”_

“Well, ah… many things?” Hordak waits expectantly. Emma cringes. “Which we should not be doing?” he hesitantly suggests, glancing at various brothers.

“That entirely depends on why you’re arguing,” Kadroh chirps. “And how, of course. At least on Etheria, it does. Did you know that Etherians can have something called a ‘healthy argument’? Oh, and they can also do something called ‘agree to disagree’, which means that each person can keep having their own opinion about something but still be friends, even if they think the other person’s opinion is wrong.”

“Ah… no,” Emma says, backing away slightly. “I… I am not familiar with that concept. I will ask Elira.”

“Elira is your supervisor?” Hordak clarifies.

“Yes.” Emma nods. “Elira is an excellent supervisor.”

“Well then where is she?” Entrapta asks from where she has begun inspecting a clone with a head injury, presumably the one who was bleeding on his shirt and lacked bandages. She flips her mask back up.

“We don’t know!” The exclamation from a clone hiding behind a fallen tree opens the floodgates for another wave of incoherent shouting.

“She never came back!”

“What if something happened? We must go look for her!”

“What if it is a test of our obedience? She told us to stay here and work on the framing until she came back. We are failing the test!”

“But she was not supposed to be gone this long!”

“Who are you to say how long Elira should be gone?”

 _“Elira_ said it, not me!”

“Why are we wasting time arguing about this? We need to fix it!”

“And conceal our contemptible incompetence?! No! We must leave this failure on full display! Or do you attempt to avoid our rightful judgement?”

“Elira said she won’t-”

“Elira is kind and merciful, but we have been far too foolish for mercy.”

“Hey, guys?” Entrapta tries to be heard above the noise, but she simply lacks the lung capacity of Hordak’s non-defective brothers. “Guys? Hello!” She looks back at the injured clone. “Never mind. Hordak, Kadroh, I’m taking Indigo to the ship. We’ve probably got some medical supplies in there somewhere.” Hordak nods, then stumbles out of the way of two clones having a somewhat violent disagreement over whether one’s statement counts as heresy. Kadroh catches him, stepping in front of him protectively once he is steady on his feet.

“Alright now, that’s enough,” Kadroh scolds. “You are all brothers, are you not? Why are you fighting like this?”

“We do not know,” Emma whimpers, ears pinned back but trying to keep his composure.

“Your supervisor is missing?”

“Yes. She went over to the next village to get some supplies, but that was at least an hour ago and she has not returned.”

“I assume someone in this group has had the sense to go look for her?” Hordak challenges, eye twitching.

Emma looks away. “Well… several of us have thought of it, but… well…”

“ELIRA DID NOT TELL US TO GO LOOK FOR HER. SHE SAID TO WAIT HERE AND FINISH OUR WORK, AND WE HAVE COMPLETELY FAILED AT THE SECOND PART OF THAT COMMAND SO THE LEAST WE CAN DO IS FOLLOW THE FIRST PART!”

“Well, that,” Emma continues, nodding at the interruption. “No one is quite sure whether Elira wants us to go looking, and some of us are quite concerned about not doing what we were told, while others of us are quite concerned that everything has gone so wrong that we are beyond the ability to even _attempt_ to do what we were told. Well, actually, we are _all_ very concerned about both of those things, but we cannot agree on which is most important.” Tears bead in Emma’s eyes. “I do not know why we cannot agree. We should not be fighting like this. We never fought before. No one can agree on anything and usually Elira helps us but she is missing! Why won't she come back?”

“Oh, dear,” Kadroh sighs, wrapping Emma in a hug. “I am beginning to think this isn’t just about Elira.”

Hordak has to agree.

“Are you suggesting we are being disloyal?” Emma asks, sniffling.

“No, not at all!” Kadroh says. “I’m only recalling that we have all had a very recent experience of losing someone very important to us, even if he was not actually worth any of the loyalty we showed him.” At Emma’s glare, he clarifies, “not that your Elira is not worth such loyalty! I am sure she is quite wonderful! I have also found some wonderful people who are more deserving of my loyalty, and I would be very upset if they disappeared!”

“Are you sure ‘disappeared’ is the right word?” Entrapta pops her head out of the ship. “Since no one’s gone to check, it seems like you’re missing some pretty important data.”

“She never came back,” Emma insists, burying his face in Kadroh’s shoulder as Kadroh pats his back.

“Stop that disgraceful behavior!” One of the other clones snaps.

“Elira says it is fine,” Emma growls back.

“Oh, _Elira_ says. And where is Elira now? Left us, that’s where.”

“That is not even a place!” Another clone growls.

“That is not the point!”

“Is Indigo okay?” Another clone quietly asks Entrapta.

“Sure, he’s doing great! Just needed a little bandage, and to sit down for a minute. Want to come in and visit?”

“Alright.”

“Great! I think he could use some company. Have you picked a name yet?”

“Bon.”

“Great name! Now come on inside, Bon, and watch out for the blankets–”

They both disappear inside the ship, leaving Hordak and Kadroh to deal with the rest of the crowd. Hordak would very much like to return to those blankets, but solving problems like this is part of his purpose on Etheria. There are worse tasks, though possibly few for which he is less qualified.

In the time that Entrapta spent collecting Bon, the rest of the crew has devolved back into arguing, although the two who nearly came to blows have been separated by a third. They don’t seem pleased with the separation, and look nearly ready to push their intervening brother out of the way. Kadroh glances between them and Hordak, looking torn.

“Go help. I will be fine,” Hordak grumbles, waving him off. He does not need a bodyguard – even if he really would appreciate the return of his old armor right now.

“Are you – ah, are you well, brother?” Emma asks, stumbling over his words.

“Yes!” Hordak growls. “I am in perfectly acceptable condition, with the exception of all of these ridiculous questions about my wellbeing!”

Emma flinches. “Oh. I apologize. I did not mean to imply that you were in less than acceptable condition. I am certain that you are quite functional, and–”

“Hn.” Hordak waves away the apology with a grunt. “Irrelevant. Now, regarding your supervisor’s location–” Vertigo takes him.

Awareness solidifies with an arm around his shoulders and a voice speaking over his head. “-not well! What can be done? I will help, but you must tell me what can be done!” He is pulled along into a wave of _concern*unfamiliar-but-welcome-new-brother*concern*horror*new-brother-broken*horror_ **STOP.**

“Release me!” he snarls, pushing away from the contact.

“Oh! I did not – that is, of course you are fully capable of standing on your own. I did not mean to imply–”

“Never mind what you meant to imply! What did you do to my mind?”

“Nothing! I would never do anything to your mind!”

“Then what was that?”

“What was what?”

“What you just did!”

“What did I do? I did not think letting you fall over would be any better than catching you.”

“Not that! What was–”

“Hi!” Entrapta pops up between them. “Is there a problem?”

Emma's expression falls into blankness. “There is no problem, Princess Entrapta. I believe I may have offended this brother, but I will repair the miscommunication. No intervention is required.”

“Uh huh…” Entrapta’s skepticism is clear.

Emma’s ears droop. “Truly, there is no problem worth any consideration. I merely misinterpreted–”

“You merely sent your mind into my own.”

“Oh, like the thing with Kadroh?” Entrapta peers into his eyes like she can see through them.

“Yes.”

Emma’s ears perk. “Oh! Is that all you meant?”

“Yes, that is ‘all I meant’. Were you under the impression that intruding into my mind was acceptable?”

Emma’s ears droop. “Intruding?”

“What else would you call it?”

“But… I… we welcome our brothers into our minds. We always have!"

“We did when we were not aware of any other choice. Now we are free, and I will not have–” suffocating shadow overtaking all that he is. Disgust that this is what he served, what he and every one of his brothers longed for, their highest Prime-given purpose that they never questioned. Despair at the futility of claiming his individuality only to have it immediately ripped away from him. Terror for what would become of Entrapta at his hands, what he only barely recalled himself soon enough to prevent but still failed entirely to prevent because he is nothing in the light the darkness the shadow _cast out the shadows cast out the shadows cast out the shadows cast out the–_

“Hordak!”

“Wha–” Entrapta’s face is at eye level. She is looking into his eyes. Her hair cradles his face, nothing like the hand that held him in place while needle-tipped tentacles invaded his very being and erased him. Entrapta is here. She is alive. “Entrapta,” he sighs as her hair brushes his cheeks.

“Are you better now, or do you need a break?”

“I…” A horde of green eyes regard him in horror. Kadroh, at the center of the group that was previously fighting, makes his way through the crowd to stand protectively in front of Hordak and Entrapta. “I am… in acceptable condition.” ‘Fine’ would be an overstatement, but his condition is functional for the current situation.

“Yeah, that sounds a lot like what my new friend Indigo keeps saying. He keeps insisting he’s ‘functional’, so it doesn’t really matter that a big wooden beam fell on his head a few minutes ago.”

“That sounds like he needs medical attention.”

“Yeah, he does. I’ve cleaned him up, and his friend Bon is watching him, but we should really get him to a doctor, soon.”

“Ah. Perhaps you should… do that?” It's slightly unclear why Entrapta is telling him this instead of just doing it, but she must have her reasons. Regardless, it helps to focus on her voice. He is feeling rather... distant? Yes, distant.

“Yeah, I should. I’m kind of having a hard time getting him to admit anything’s wrong, though. I think he’s pretty scared someone might realize he needs help, and maybe shouldn’t do anymore work today, or maybe that something worse could be wrong. Bon seems pretty scared of that, too. Any idea why?”

Hordak thinks. His thoughts are slow, but he knows this answer. “He likely fears being judged unworthy and being discarded. Utterly ridiculous, because not only is the problem likely to be temporary, but in order to put up with all of this nonsense this Elira is likely to be a… a compassionate individual who cares for them. I doubt she would discard him, whatever damage he might sustain, and besides, doing so would likely have her removed as supervisor, at the very least, given the likely disapproval of various Etherian authorities.”

“Uh huh. Yep. Totally unfounded worries, with decent, reasonable people in charge. Interesting how you guys keep thinking you have to hide it whenever you’re hurt, though, even from people you trust.”

“Yes, I suppose it's a conditioned response that is no longer quite appropriate for the – ah. I see.” He is being foolish again – has been foolish all day, really, hiding things from Entrapta. Trying to hide, that is, because he certainly isn’t succeeding. He acknowledged it on the ship, but here he is doing it again.

“Do you see?”

“Yes. I believe so. I am… perhaps I have been… affected by certain events, that have perhaps come nearer to mind today than I would like. However, I would prefer not to address those problems in public. Might we return to the task for which we landed?”

“The task–? Oh, yeah! Helping all these guys!” She twirls around to face them, peeking past Kadroh. “Is everybody doing better?”

“That depends on whether crying counts as better than fighting. I think it does.” Kadroh uncrosses his arms, releasing himself from his role as barrier between Hordak and the others. Hordak is torn between appreciation and irritation at the overprotectiveness, so he settles on focusing on the business at hand.

“I doubt the situation will improve until someone finds their missing supervisor.”

“Probably true,” Entrapta says. “Let’s go do that.”

“We were supposed to wait for Elira to return.” Emma hesitantly resumes his role as spokesman, keeping some distance between himself and Hordak.

“Did she specifically say you can’t go look for her," Entrapta asks, "or did she just say something like ‘keep working on this until I get back’, or ‘don’t go wandering off to the other villages’?”

“Well… more the latter than the former, but the meaning was clear, and none of us are so disloyal as to twist her words for our own convenience.”

“I wouldn’t really call that ‘disloyal’, necessarily. If I always followed every single instruction to the letter, I’d never have met Hordak!” Emma blinks at Entrapta in bewilderment. “But anyway, that’s not even the point. The point is that even if she said to stay right here, that doesn’t mean you have to do it. That might have been her plan when she left, but sometimes plans have to change.”

“She would have told us if she had changed the plan,” Emma insists.

“Do you have a way to communicate with her?”

“We can… well, no. The hivemind is gone, so we cannot communicate anything as complex as a change of plans, and Elira has never been able to connect with us, even when she helps us connect with each other. So I suppose she could not tell us if something had delayed her.”

There is that talk of ‘connection’ again. Emma speaks of it as if it is not the hivemind, but something else. It feels far too much like possession for Hordak’s peace of mind, but these clones treat it like something ordinary and harmless. Perhaps it’s some remnant of the original hivemind connection that this group refuses to relinquish? But Hordak never had the choice to relinquish anything, and neither did Kadroh, nor would he have chosen to do so when it was first taken from him. This second time, he wants no part of it, but he has now been dragged into it on two separate occasions. It is quite disturbing. He fears it might require further investigation, but not now. The conversation has aleady continued without him.

“This is a wonderful opportunity, brothers!” Kadroh is likely the only one who sees it that way, whatever it is. “Your supervisor will be proud to see you solving a problem on your own! You don’t even need to solve the whole problem, just the part where you find out where she went and how she would like you to solve the other problems. She must have confidence that you can, or she would not have left you alone at all.”

“But what if we do it wrong?” A clone who has been silent until now says.

“It’s not really the kind of thing you can do wrong.” Kadroh pats the speaker on the head, much to the speaker’s confusion. “Maybe you might not be able to find her, but that would not leave you any worse off than you are now.”

“But what if she is angry that we disobeyed?”

“I doubt she expects perfect obedience. Etherians like it when people take initiative! Well, usually.” Several incidents come to mind as exceptions to Kadroh's statement, generally involving his excessive enthusiasm for bright colors and some slight difficulty differentiating between areas meant for personal and public use, but as a general rule, it is correct.

“You are highly unlikely to be blamed for seeking help when things go wrong,” Hordak confirms. “That is part of the purpose of a supervisor.”

“Elira did not tell us to seek help.”

“Has she before?”

“Yes, several times, but not this time.”

“Then she likely meant it as an open invitation for whenever help was needed. Etherians tend to leave a significant amount of leeway in their instructions, with the assumption that they will be interpreted in a reasonable manner.”

“But… but what if we interpret them _wrong?”_

“Have any of you misinterpreted your supervisor’s instructions before?”

“I have,” Bon calls from where he and Indigo sit in the ship's entryway. He looks away in shame at the group’s attention, but relaxes when Indigo chirps at him. “She said it was an understandable mistake, and then she helped me fix it. So are you saying this will be like that?”

“Your supervisor seems very kind and reasonable.” Kadroh says. “I’m certain that she will be very understanding and helpful. That’s just what those sorts of people do! I know a few of them, myself!” He beams at Entrapta, and then, bafflingly, at Hordak.

Kadroh’s nonsense aside, the next wave of murmuring to sweep through the crowd is more hopeful.

“-pleased when we ask-”

“-would not punish-“

“If nothing else, keeping this from her does not seem-”

“-refused my suggestion of replicating the purification pool-”

“That one with curling horns – Eric? His hand was missing several fingers, and she did not-”

“-said repeatedly that we would not be punished.”

“-might be different with us, though. We must repair-”

“-disloyal to insist we _ought_ to be punished.”

“seemed rather odd, but of course I never questioned-”

“-informed me that I erred by calling him defective.”

“-insists we are not to let ourselves be damaged through efforts to increase efficiency.”

“Glory be to Elira.”

“Elira said do not say that.”

“But then what do we say?!”

“-should have ‘taken initiative’ earlier and acquired more nails.”

“Or used the screws.”

“Perhaps.”

“-Indigo is damaged.”

“Princess Entrapta says I will recover!”

“Does repaired damage still count the same as-?”

Hordak sighs. It seems that this is simply how these brothers communicate, without the hivemind to share thoughts more efficiently or Prime to demand order. Or perhaps simply without Prime, given that they seem to have retained some disturbing facsimile of the hivemind. Regardless, the chaos is exhausting. Eyes alighting on a clone who he thinks may be Emma, he calls to him.

“Yes?” Emma asks, breaking away from the crowd.

“Tell Kadroh where your supervisor went. He will retrieve her.”

Kadroh pops out of the crowd that has begun to engulf him in their competing conversations. “Yes, of course! I am delighted to be volunteered to help!”

“Oh,” Emma says. “Well… I am uncertain if it has a name, but just down that path on the other side of the river… do you see it? There’s a small settlement that another crew is working on. Elira went to check on the delivery of some supplies. I could show you?”

“Wonderful! Let’s go!” They both bound off down a path towards the river that runs alongside the settlement.

“Hey, Hordak!” Entrapta’s voice rings out behind him.

“Yes?” He turns to find her. She has settled herself on a stack of boards, hair forming a cushion and a backrest behind her. She pats the space next to her, splaying her hair out to extend the backrest across the rest of the board.

“Come join me!” She pats the space beside her.

He walks closer, but does not sit. There is still work to be done here. “I do not need to sit down.”

“Are you sure? Because it’s really pretty comfortable, and they’re all busy talking about something I’m not even going to try to figure out, but I’d estimate the chances of any of them killing each other at this point has decreased to less than 0.5%, so we can probably leave them to it for at least a couple minutes. I’m thinking this might be a good chance for some observations of group behavior, but you’re a lot more familiar with the species than I am, so I’d really appreciate your perspective. Will you come help me with my observations?” A thin tendril of hair tugs at his arm. He could resist… but why?

“Very well.” He lets himself be guided onto the cushioned boards. If he needs slightly more assistance than he would like, well, it’s Entrapta. She can be trusted with his flaws. The two of them observe the chaos together, comparing notes and recording whatever seems interesting. Hordak's mind appreciates the familiar routine of data collection, and his muscles appreciate the hair that takes over their role in keeping him upright. He really must stop denying his need for new armor.

Kadroh and Emma return within a few minutes, Kadroh leading the way while Emma clings to the hand of a short, muscular Etherian female with pointed ears. The Etherian looks highly concerned.

“Hey, guys, I’m back,” she calls. The entire construction crew rushes towards her. Several kneel at her feet, while the rest stand at stiff attention. “Woah, woah, woah! What did I say about the kneeling thing?” She guides the kneeling ones to their feet. “There, that’s better. You guys can – okay, I know you’re not going to relax yet. Okay. It’s okay.” She sits down and pats the ground.

Every member of the construction crew sits with her, Ban helping Indigo when he sways on the way down. “I’m so sorry I took so long getting back. There was a problem with one of the shipments, and you know how Dine is about checking off every little box – but I should have left him to figure it out himself. You guys are more important.” Several clones’ mouths drop open. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. And what’s all this about you all being too scared to come ask me for help?”

“We already had our orders,” one whispers.

Elira takes a deep, calming breath. “Okay, first, not orders. Instructions. They’re different. Who remembers the difference?”

“Orders are commands that we must follow. Instructions are just information about how to do things,” most of the clones say in unison.

Elira is unphased. “Right. And do I ever give you orders?”

“No,” the one who spoke about orders responds, ducking his head.

“Hey, c’mere.” He crawls over to sit next to her. She puts an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay that you forgot. It’s hard to change the way you think about everything.”

“Elira?” Indigo calls.

“Yeah? Oh, shit.”

Indigo flinches.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I just didn’t realize how bad your head was hurt.”

“I am damaged,” he admits, looking away.

“You’re hurt, not damaged,” she corrects. “Things get ‘damaged’, people get hurt.” Indigo frowns in confusion. “You’re a person, not a thing. Remember what the difference is?”

“Ah… people… people are… things are…” Indigo’s breathing quickens.

Elira puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, shh, you’re not in trouble, I promise. I shouldn’t have asked you a hard question with your head hurt like that.”

“I can answer! I can!”

“I know you can. Tell you what, let’s give your head a chance to get better, and then you can tell me. That sound like something you can do?”

Indigo nods frantically, then winces.

“Sure wish I knew how to check you guys for a concussion without being able to see your pupils. Makes me think we should take a trip over to somewhere with better doctors, but I don’t think anyone around here’s gonna know any better than I do.”

“Princess Entrapta said I would be well.”

“She did, did she? That right, princess? You got a way to check my guys for concussions?”

“Not specifically concussions,” Entrapta says, gently lifting Hordak off of her hair and letting it walk her over to Elira. “I can detect eye position, though, and he could track the tool I used to do it.” She pulls a small device out of a pocket and waves it in the air.

“You a doctor, then?”

“Nope! But Hordak lets me take all kinds of readings, and Kadroh does too for comparison, so I can work on expanding my database of their physiology! A lot of things calibrated for Etherians don’t really work very well for them, so I’ve been making a lot of modifications. I never used to have much interest in physiology, but theirs is fascinating! Did you know they aren’t entirely organic? Mostly, yes, but they have all kinds of tiiiiny modifications that integrate into their nervous systems! It’s really… oh.” She flips her mask down. “That’s probably not what you wanted to know about, is it?”

Elira shakes her head with an amused smile. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I just wanna know if my guys are okay. Think you’d know enough to tell if Indigo wasn’t?”

“Um… probably?” Entrapta’s hair twists its fingers together. She is upset. Hordak almost intervenes, but stops at Kadroh’s restraining hand on his arm.

Elira’s smile turns fond. “Great. Thanks for looking after him, princess.” She turns her smile on Hordak and Kadroh. “And that includes you two. My guys need as many people looking out for them as they can get.”

Kadroh grins. “We are always happy to help!” He nudges Hordak.

“Yes… ah… we are… it is an obligation that we are pleased to fulfill… so, ah...”

“He means he is also happy to help,” Kadroh translates Hordak’s painfully awkward stumbling. Hordak nods his appreciation.

“Maybe you should still check with a real doctor,” Entrapta suggests, face once again uncovered.

“Yeah, we’ll probably do that once everyone’s calmed down.”

Hordak scans the crew of seated clones. None are panicking anymore, but many are still sitting stiffly and most have their ears pinned back tightly against their heads. A few are leaning subtly towards Elira.

“Do you need any more help from us?” Kadroh asks.

“Nah, I think we’ve got it covered. I’m just gonna hang out here with my guys for a while. Hey, Aran, get over here.” She pats the ground beside her. “You lean any closer without moving your butt, you’re gonna fall over.” A clone scrambles closer to lean against her. “River, you too. Indigo, you’d better get over here. I’m not letting you out of my sight. Emma, get Pomegranate out of that building he’s sulking in, tell him I said nothing any of you guys did is heresy because there’s no such thing, and then both of you get your asses over here. Bon…”

She proceeds to call every clone by name, collecting them in a tight huddle with her in the center. Most ears in the group relax, with only the occasional flick of concern when one of them suggests that they should be working.

“There’s plenty of time for work later. You guys are more important.” At their looks of incomprehension, she shakes her head and sighs. “It’s okay. You’ll get it someday.”

Hordak grunts and turns away from the scene. The sight of so many of his brothers pressed up together like that, cared for, told that they are important… it stirs something within him that he has long since learned to ignore. Clones do not do this. They are brothers, but they do not huddle together like affectionate Etherian children. They do not look to ~~anyone but Prime~~ _anyone_ for reassurance. They do not make the little chitters and chirps of freely expressed emotion. They do not.

Strands of hair wind firmly around his limbs, pulling him to Entrapta and doing the same to Kadroh beside him. His kind do not do this. Normally they do not. However, nothing about this new life is normal. Everything is strange, and unfamiliar, and forbidden… and better than anything he has ever experienced. Perhaps it does not matter what they do or do not do.

“We’ll be going now, if everything’s okay here,” Entrapta calls quietly to Elira.

Elira nods. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. These guys are the best crew I’ve ever had. They can handle anything.”

The happy rumbling that rises from her work crew’s chests travels with all three of them the whole way back to the ship.


	7. Chapter 7

“My goodness!” Mirim exclaims, turning her chair for a better view. It’s not every day one of those fancy new Horde ships lands right above this lovely little ledge tucked into the cliffs behind Brightmoon’s castle. She tilts her head to check Sweetie’s reaction. His typical mask of impassivity is mostly unruffled, but there’s a hint of a glare if one pays close enough attention to the spacing of his eyes. Oh, dear. “Sweetie?”

“We should leave,” he rumbles, resting one hand lightly on the back of her chair. She wouldn’t allow such a thing from most people, at least not without asking first, but Sweetie is different. He’s not the sort to just push a person around without so much as a by-your-leave. No, the challenge with him is more in convincing him that he can do anything at all without permission. It’s actually quite the surprise to see him taking even this much initiative.

“What’s the matter?” she asks him. If he’s worried enough to express an opinion about something, it’s worth listening to - especially when it relates to his brothers. There’s a lot she doesn’t know about the Galactic Horde, invasion aside. A lot she doesn’t know about the regular Horde, too, for that matter, but they at least didn’t usually interrupt people’s hikes through the heart of Brightmoon by landing a ship on top of them. She and her neighbors were lucky enough to keep their homes and stay away from most of the actual fighting during the invasion, and she never managed to draw the attention of anyone with glowing green eyes, so she considers herself to have been relatively sheltered from the whole thing. The same obviously can’t be said for Sweetie. He has first-hand experience of a lot of things that she wouldn’t even think to worry about, and it’s only sensible to respect that. On the other hand, he also worries about a lot of things that no one should ever need to worry about.

“They shouldn’t see you,” Sweetie says as he crouches down beside her chair, like he’s about to pick the whole thing up with her in it.

Mirim fights back the urge to sigh. No matter how many times they go over this, he still worries. “Unless the folks on that ship have just come straight down from that tree you folks used to live on, I’m pretty sure they’ve seen a little old lady with bad knees before.”

Sweetie growls. “They could have just come from the ship.” Goodness, he’s expressive today. And talking more than in the whole first week she knew him put together! Too bad it has to be worry for her that gets so many words out of him.

“Then we’ll just have to teach them how things work down here.” Maybe this _is_ their first time coming down from the tree-ship. It would explain landing behind the castle instead of in the front where all the other ships usually land. If so, the kindest thing to do would be to go greet them, let them get started adjusting to Etheria with someone who knows how to handle a few displaced young men instead of getting in a fight or wandering around lost like Sweetie did. “Let’s go say hello.”

Sweetie hesitates, but doesn’t stop her from rolling her chair around the rocks to a part of the ledge with a better view of the ship. He just keeps himself between her and the edge, like he always tries to do when they’re way up here – probably the only reason it’s even safe for her to be up here in the first place, if she’s honest, never mind that she hasn’t been able to make the steep, rocky climb up the cliff since long before her knees got too bad to hold her up. Helping her go rock climbing like she used to is just one of the many ways her life has gotten so much richer since the day a soaking wet clone tried to hide from the rain on her tiny front porch – not that he quite understands all the ways he’s helped her. Poor boy still thinks he’s got to prove his worth, most of the time. Oh, well, he’s a work in progress, but everyone is.

“Hello, up there!” she calls as the little ship opens its door.

“HELLO!” calls an enthusiastic voice that sounds a lot like Sweetie but also very much not. Sweetie showing that much excitement for anything would be a miracle. “DON’T MIND US! WE’RE JUST… ‘TAKING THE SCENIC ROUTE’.” Odd inflection on that one. Sounds like someone’s learned a fun new phrase. Mirim smiles. These boys are so cute when they get excited about new things. “Just my friend and I!” the enthusiastic voice continues, although it starts to sound just a little bit put on, the more he talks. “No one else! Just one friend and I taking the scenic route to the castle!”

Looks like being bad at lying isn’t just a Sweetie thing. It would be suspicious, but as she’s learned from Sweetie, most of the things these poor dears feel the need to lie about aren’t bad things at all. She’s actually pretty grateful that Sweetie’s such a bad liar – otherwise he probably would have starved to death before she realized he didn’t know that feeling like his stomach was caving in meant he was hungry – but that’s neither here nor there. The sweet boy on the ship can keep his secrets. “You know, I think they have a landing place for the ships just a few levels down, dear. You’ll see it if you fly around to the front.”

Yes, the landing pad!” the sweetheart on the ship agrees, jumping down from the doorway to the rocks beneath the ship. “Isn’t it excellent? Entrapta built it!”

“Princess Entrapta?” Maybe this one isn’t so new to Etheria, if he’s keeping up on the princesses’ projects. “I hear she’s quite the scientist.”

“YES! SHE’S AN EXPERT IN FIRST ONES TECH AND ALMOST AN EXPERT IN HORDE TECH! Although she says she’s not an expert in that yet because it’s very complicated and different from anything on Etheria and there’s still so much to learn! AND ALSO ALMOST AN EXPERT ON CLONE BIOLOGY AND – AND ‘CYBERNETIC INTERFACES’ – BECAUSE – well not _because_. Not because at all! There’s no ‘because’ about it. She is an almost expert on those things because-”

“Because they’re _fascinating!”_ A female voice that probably doesn’t belong to a clone interjects. “I wouldn’t normally be interested in biology, but they have _tiny machines_ integrated into their _nervous systems!_ Oh!” the voice exclaims, poking its head out of the ship. “You have one too!”

“One what?” Mirim asks, laying a hand over Sweetie’s when he grabs her chair so tightly it makes the metal creak. It’s the only sign that he’s upset by so many strangers being so close, but it’s an unmistakable one.

“A clone!” The purple-haired woman walks to the edge of her ledge – not on her feet, but on her hair. This must be Princess Entrapta. Living in Brightmoon, one gets used to the oddities of princesses. “It seems like everyone has some, these days. Aren’t they great?! Everyone acted like it was weird, at first – being friends with them, I mean - but now everyone seems to want one!”

Well, there’s no faulting her enthusiasm – or her opinion, for that matter. “They are wonderful,” Mirim proudly agrees. It’s hard to believe it was less than three weeks ago she invited Sweetie in off her porch for a dry towel and a cup of tea. He’s come so far since then, and she can’t imagine life without him.

“Do you have a name, yet?” Entrapta asks, suddenly at eye level with Sweetie, inches from his face. Sweetie hisses. Mirim finds herself and her chair unceremoniously picked up and plopped down on the other end of the ledge, Sweetie standing at attention between her and their unexpected visitor. Oh, dear.

“I suggest you step back a bit, dearie,” Mirim states firmly. “He doesn’t like strangers so close.”

“Why not?” Entrapta does not step back, and almost looks like she might be thinking about coming closer to investigate, which would _not_ end well.

“I think it might have to do with ‘personal space’,” the very talkative clone suggests, tentatively.

“Oh!” Entrapta swings herself back up to the ledge holding the ship. “Right, personal space! I get it. I can’t get anyone to give me any clear answers about how far away from people it actually goes, and all my attempts at data collection just end in a lot of yelling, or people not holding still long enough to collect data, or even more yelling if I try to make them hold still long enough to collect data, so I’ve mostly given up on that experiment for now, but preliminary results do suggest that I was standing too close. Also, getting hissed at is probably data worth recording, although I don’t think when Hordak hisses at me it has anything to do with personal space.” The princess shakes her head, hair flying as she sighs. “The social sciences are just so… fuzzy, you know? The blurry kind of fuzzy, not the cute kind of fuzzy. It’s almost impossible to isolate any particular variable for analysis, or even figure out what all the variables are! Preliminary trials with asking for clarification have had mixed results, but it was more successful than I expected it to be. Early results suggest that asking is more likely to get a helpful response from Horde clones than from typical Etherians, so I guess, um… clone who’s name I don’t know, is it true that you hissed at me because I was in your personal space?”

Sweetie stares at the princess in bewildered silence. “You will not harm Mirim,” he finally growls.

“Nope.” Entrapta shakes her head. “Wait, you’re growling and your ears are pinned back, so that wasn’t just a statement, was it? You’re… mad? Or scared? Or… Kadroh, what do you think?” She turns to her companion.

“I think he is trying to protect his friend,” the friendly clone – Kadroh – says in the most serious voice Mirim has heard him use. “I think he is worried.”

“Worried? Why? Wait, does he think I’m going to hurt her?” The princess flips a welding mask over her face. “Why would I hurt a nice old lady who was just saying hi? Why would I hurt anyone?” Oh, poor girl. Sweetie just doesn’t get how his overprotectiveness can hurt people. Of course, learning that would mean accepting that emotional hurt is a thing, and he’s just not quite ready for that, yet.

“You will not harm Mirim,” Sweetie insists. “She is not defective.” He shifts to better block their view of her, as if they might forget that she’s in a wheelchair. As if they would _care_ that she’s in a wheelchair, other than to be surprised to find her this high up on a mountain. She would bristle at the language, from anyone else, but she knows Sweetie well enough by now to recognize how easy it is to go back to old ways of speaking under stress. It doesn’t mean anything more than that. Still, he could use a little help with his reasoning.

Mirim pats her knees. “These old things are about as ‘defective’ as they come, Sweetie, considering they won’t do their job of holding me up anymore. That doesn’t mean anyone’s going to hurt me. That’s just not how things work around here. You know that.”

“Is Sweetie your name?” Kadroh asks, regaining some of his earlier friendliness now that Sweetie isn’t growling at his friend anymore.

“No.” Sweetie denies it as emphatically as ever. He still insists he doesn’t have a name and doesn’t want one, but he never minds Mirim calling him Sweetie. Enough other people have picked it up that it’s stuck, at least until he decides on something else.

“Oh.” Kadroh deflates for a moment, then brightens. “But this woman is your friend?”

“Granny Mirim. Yes.” There was a time when it was strange to hear Sweetie’s stiff formality mirroring the name all the local children call her, but at this point it sounds like the most natural thing in the world. She never had or wanted any children, but Sweetie is the best grandson any granny could ask for – and the best friend.

“And you don’t mind that she… that her knees are… that her knees don’t work?” Kadroh sounds a little bit hopeful about that, and not at all hostile, despite having some trouble figuring out how to describe the problem without being offensive. These boys just don’t have any language to use for people's bodies and minds not quite working like they should, other than insulting nonsense like ‘defective’, but they don't necessarily mean any harm by it. If anything, Kadroh seems relieved. Maybe he has a ‘defective’ friend of his own. It would explain how he knows he shouldn’t be calling people that.

“No.” Even with his back to her, Mirim can hear the glower in Sweetie’s voice. He’s really expanding his expressions and tone of voice today. Hopefully he can keep it up once he realizes these folks aren’t about to push her off the edge of the cliff. Maybe he’ll even add a few more positive variations.

“See!? I told you!” Entrapta exclaims, starting to swing closer before thinking better of it. She makes herself a seat on the rocks, instead. That really is some remarkable hair.

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe,” Kadroh objects, glancing back at the ship. The poor dear doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body. Still, he's trying, and it’s none of Mirim or Sweetie’s business.

“Well, I guess we’d better be on our way,” Mirim announces loudly. “Loret will be expecting us for dinner in a couple of hours, and I, for one, intend to wash all of this dust out of my hair and get the mud out of my wheels before we head over there.” Sweetie nods, but doesn’t take his watchful eye off the pair by the ship. “Oh, come along, dear. I saw Illy in the market this morning buying as many berries as her little arms could carry. If those aren’t meant for those little tarts Loret knows you love, I’ll eat my left foot!”

“Your left foot?” Sweetie asks, turning away from the strangers to give her a full view of his bewilderment.

That’s a much more manageable state than suspicious, but she won’t leave him confused. “It’s an expression, Sweetie. It’s just meant to point out how unlikely it is that I'm wrong.”

“Oh. You are rarely wrong.” Sweetie says it with such certainty that it might worry her a bit, but the little smile quirking up the corners of his lips says that he’s teasing her. She won’t put up with being worshipped, and he knows it.

“Wonderful!” Kadroh exclaims, enthusiasm back in full force. ‘Excited’ seems to be his natural state. “So if you would just – wait.” He examines her wheelchair with concern. “How are you going to get down from here? Oh, we could give you a ride!” He glances back to the ship, then his eyes widen in horror. “But actually, no, we cannot do that because we are actually very busy and have to get going right this second! Yes, that is… that is exactly why we cannot give you a ride, and why we landed in such an unusual spot, because we are in a hurry, and from here we can go right into the castle through that conveniently place balcony with just a very small jump. Because we are in a hurry! No other reason! Why would there be another reason?” No other reason. Of course not. Precious boy.

“We can get ourselves down,” Mirim assures him. “Well, Sweetie can, can’t you, Sweetie?”

“Yes,” Sweetie agrees, picking up her chair in the way that they’ve found lets him clamber over steep rocky slopes while carrying her. If they want to go any higher, they have to leave the chair behind and strap her to his back so he can have both hands free to climb, but he’s easily strong enough to bring both her and the chair up to these relatively accessible ledges. Some people might think being carried was too undignified, but Mirim is happy to sacrifice a little dignity to be so far off the ground again. Besides, it's Sweetie. His respect for her has nothing to do with staying properly on the ground like a dignified adult.

Mirim tucks her hands in safely between her body and the armrests as Sweetie starts picking his way down the cliffside. It might be nice to wrap an arm around him, to give herself the illusion of having a little more control, but it’s not worth it – not with the risk of accidentally touching Sweetie’s ears. He’s never said why he froze up the one time she did it, but it lasted for nearly an hour and he was shaky the whole rest of the day, so she never plans to risk it again. Besides, Sweetie’s got her. She’s never been safer.

“Bye!” Princess Entrapta calls, waving her hair in the shape of a hand. Mirim calls a farewell before losing sight of them beneath the ledge, and doesn’t pay one bit of mind to the figure who stumbles into the doorway of the ship as they leave or the way her two new friends rush over to help him. There’s no reason to push them to share what they’re not ready to share. Everyone heals at their own pace, and all of these boys have a lot of healing to do. Pushing them isn’t her place. Her place is with Sweetie, who just needs a safe place to rest, a cup of tea, and maybe a fruit tart or two. And to make it home in time for dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much appreciated. Or come talk to me on tumblr at https://rainoverthemountains.tumblr.com/


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